


Lunchtime Drabbles

by Yatzuaka



Series: LTD [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble Sequence, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff, Screw it - Freeform, Slice of Life, So many POV's, Some chapters are more drabble-y than others, The swears, there's angst too
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-22
Updated: 2017-12-05
Packaged: 2018-05-22 17:09:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 88
Words: 78,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6087745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yatzuaka/pseuds/Yatzuaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This has somehow morphed into a story, with what I will generously call a plot. Color me surprised and pleased. </p><p>Essentially, this is a collection of short scenes from life in the Avengers Tower, focusing on the relationship between Loki and Darcy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Spank Bank

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly these are written during my lunch hour, occasionally started the day before while I'm on the dreaded bus. 
> 
> I post stuff on my [tumblr](http://www.yatzuaka.tumblr.com/), too, if you want to join me over there. It's mostly incoherent ramblings, tbh, but there's fic updates, too.

  _...His fingers trailed delicious fire up her thigh, and she so-_

"I want tea," Loki made this pronouncement in the sulking, pleading tone of voice that surely drove his sainted mother insane for centuries.

Darcy sighed, tore her eyes from the book she was reading, and thoroughly enjoying, and glanced at him over the rims of her glasses. "See, that sounds like a personal problem, and thus doesn't fall under my realm of responsibility." Her phone caw-cawed. Ignoring Loki, and his stink eye, she swiped the text alert that was automatically routed to her StarkTab. "The team is back. Sam wants to go over the performance of his new wings."

Loki didn't move, didn't say anything, just stood there. Staring.

Darcy wasn't about to be the first to break their strange little stalemate, so she attempted to get back to her book, Nights on Fire.

. _..and she sobbed as he avoided the spot she desperately -_

"Are you reading that drek again? How is that more important than seeing to my needs?"

He wouldn't provoke her. He wouldn't. "I'm on my company mandated lunch break. I'm relaxing, and you are perfectly capable of walking the fifteen feet to the dispenser and saying, 'Black tea, four sugars.' " she said this while vainly attempting to concentrate on her book.

Loki huffed, but still didn't move. He mumbled something that she couldn't hear, and she looked up again, fully prepared to chuck her own mug of tea at his face, but didn't since that was expressly prohibited by the terms of her employment contract. "What?"

"I said, my order always gets misinterpreted by that foul specter, and I just want some tea."

"I'm still having an issue figuring out why this is my problem, but I'll give you a tip," Darcy blinked at him innocently, almost enjoying the way he looked so annoyed, "calling JARVIS a foul specter probably isn't the way to get what you want out of him."

Loki moved with the deceptive grace that belied the speed he was capable of, and snatched the StarkTab out of her hands. She hopped up to grab it back, but he held it well out of her reach, his melodious voice with that posh accent ringing out as he started reading, "Her thighs trembled as his digits curled inside her wet heat. She called his name, a prayer for more or a benediction, she wasn't sure."

Darcy jumped up, trying and failing to reach the tablet, before she gave up. "Stop. Stop! Fine. I'll get your tea. Dick."

Loki smiled beatifically, but didn't stop his dramatic recitation until he held the cup of tea in his hand.

Darcy would never admit that she snuck into the security feed and downloaded a copy of the encounter for future use.


	2. Office IMs

D: Please don't tell

N: What?

D: Exactly

N: No really

N: What am I not telling?

D: That thing you saw

N: Please understand that I see at least 10 things I shouldn't by midmorning

D: You're going to make me say it, aren't you

N: They say the first step is admitting that you have a problem, no?

D: Don't kill me, but I never realized you were such a fucking sadist

N: Making people squirm is my favorite part of this job

N: Also, that's usually the first thing people notice about me

D: Please don't make me say it

N: Say what?

D: Fine. Jesus Christ you suck

D: I kissed Loki in the office supply closet

D: Please don't tell

N: Oh that

N: What's in it for me?

D: I dunno, my eternal gratitude?

N: LOL

N: Good one

N: Try again

D: Donuts from that place you like

N: Hmmm

D: And a bottle of that vodka?

N: I'm sorry. How many donuts and how much vodka?

D: 12 donuts and a big bottle of vodka

N: My silence is worth more than a measly dozen donuts and 1.75l of vodka, don't you think?

D: 2 dozen donuts, and the vodka

N: I think I hear Tony down the hallway. I'm sure he'd be interested in the goings on in his supply closet

D: 2 dozen donuts, vodka and I'll do your laundry for a week

N: A month

D: Fuck you

N: Or I could just have JARVIS pull the footage from the closet and accidentally play it in a team meeting

D: A month, but no donuts

N: I admire your spunk, kid

D: Who're you calling kid? You're only like five years older than me max

N: Bring the vodka by tonight, and we'll talk about how bad you have it for Handlebars

N: Oh and I like the dye and perfume free detergent. Sensitive skin, you know

D: Deal. But you still aren't getting any donuts

N: I really wanted the booze anyway

N: Much easier to store

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I <3 you guys
> 
> -Nat's 10 things line is appropriated from Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland movie, which was so visually stimulating, but ugh, so strangely boring.


	3. Touching

"Don't touch that," Jane says, more or less all the time.

"That's a really sensitive piece of equipment," Dr Banner winces, as Darcy's fingers stroke across the metal casing of some sort of doo-hicky.

"You're going to hurt yourself on that," Nat advises her as Darcy picks up what looks to be a baton.

"My bows are not toys," Clint tells her as he snatches the complicated length carbon fiber and Teflon from her hands.

"I'd really rather you didn't," Captain flipping America sighs, as she flicks his shield. 

This has been the common refrain, pretty much all her life. Some variation of 'Keep your filthy mitts off of my shit, Darcy'. She can't help herself, though, she's always been a tactile sort of person. Not that she doesn't understand why she shouldn't be groping stuff, but... She's still kind of sick of it. 

In her brand new apartment, there's all manner of things that appeal to someone like her. Fuzzy throw pillows, furry blankets, and a velvet couch that she lovingly cleaned after liberating it from a thrift store. A soft, soft bed she sinks into and marvels over. Rocks and driftwood and cheap, stupid little tchotckes litter available surfaces, all ready for her to pick up and caress whenever she damned well pleases. It's so very satisfying after days like today. _No, no, no, don't even think about it, Darcy_. All mother-loving day.

Darcy turns on the stereo, built in and hooked into JARVIS, and possibly the best part of living in the Tower with the rest of the Dream Team of nerds. Maybe she turns it up too loud, but the whole place is soundproof, so no one could or should care. 

In the shower, she runs her hands down her body, enjoying thoroughly, the almost limitless supply of hot water, when JARVIS interrupts the music, "Ms. Lewis, you have a visitor. Should I allow entry?"

"Who is it, Jarv?" she asks, as if it's not at all weird that a disembodied voice butted in on her private time.

"It is Bag of Cats," is the flat response and Darcy snorts. Tony swears, unconvincingly, that JARVIS's program has a small bug he can't find, and refers to Loki exclusively in nicknames.

"Why is he here?" She asks the ceiling, but catches herself, "No, I mean, don't ask him, just tell him I'll catch up with him tomorrow."

"He says he will wait."

Annoyed, because honestly, that little incident in the supply closet was an anomaly, something to do with hormones and 6 months of a distinct lack of physical intimacy, she gets out of the shower and puts on the bathrobe she stole from that hotel in Norway.

He looks as peeved as she feels when she flings the door open. "What do you want?" Squinting up at him, she pulls the robe tighter across her chest as his gaze lingers well below her eye level. 

"May I come in?" 

Manners ingrained many years ago, make her say yes, compel her to offer him a seat on her couch, and a beverage, too. Stupid, silly customs she should have discarded long ago, because she doesn't really want him here.

He stands, instead, turning to look at the comfortable clutter of her life. Loki picks up the framed photo of his brother and Jane, who are grinning wildly in that two dimensional image.

"Please don't touch my stuff," Darcy tells him and plucks it out of his hands, turning to replace it, just so.

He is standing far too close when she turns back around. 

Her fingers itch with the desire to touch him again. Just once. Or twice. Or -


	4. Regarding Game Night

Steve Rogers didn't like game night.

He'd never enjoyed poker, had no fondness for Monopoly, was exceptionally bad at Uno, hated charades and/or pictionary, but Trivia was tonight and was also, as people these days liked to say, the worst.

Still, it got him out of his rut. Muted, through hatred most likely, the almost ceaseless, burning need to find Bucky. For a little while, at least. Not that he'd admit it. Ever. To anyone.

Sam was exempt this round of torture, and so was Loki, and Dr. Banner, and Tony for some reason. Something about the new design for Sam's wings. Steve wasn't stupid, his brain was capable of grasping the concepts of flight, but his opinion wasn't needed or even wanted.

Steve wondered if he could skip it, too, but Pepper and Maria would make their displeasure known if he did. And he'd learned the hard way that disappointing those two was a mistake. 

Which is how he found himself in the den at 19:30, hoping that a mission or a lead would come up and he'd have an excuse to be somewhere else. Anywhere else.

Normally, he was teamed up with Sam and Tony, but since they were doing something else / better, everyone was paired with someone new.

Steve had met Dr. Foster's assistant, (oh god, what was her name?) a few times before, but he had only a vague sense of her personality. Sassy? Mouthy? (Somewhat annoying?)

Despite the misgivings he had, though, she was so much better at Trivia than he was. They won the first round, came in second on the second round, and might actually end up being the victors for the whole thing.

Steve Rogers didn't like game night, no sir.

But he did like winning.

After the game was over, and he was still flushed with the sense of victory, there was food and drink - alcohol, for those who could actually enjoy it. Darcy Lewis seemed to enjoy it. He watched how easily she seemed to fit in, curled up next to Nat clutching a bottle of beer while they chatted, or sticking her tongue out at Clint. Steve wasn't jealous, not exactly, but he did feel slightly envious of how easily she'd slid into the team. 

When Tony and Sam finally joined them, he was still watching her, though he was trying to be discreet about it. Which is how he noticed that her eyes lingered on the doorway, as if she was waiting for someone else. 

Thor was roaring about some foul beast he slew, and Steve laughed when he was expected to, asked the right questions, but it was like a lot of Thor's stories, so he did all that pretty much on autopilot. 

Then Loki came in. Natasha bumped her shoulder into Darcy's, who promptly turned red and started tearing at the label on her bottle. 

It felt like he was watching an intensely private moment being played out in public when she got up and was so pointedly nonchalant about meandering over to the bar where Loki was studying the choices, that Steve just couldn't look away. They didn't touch, not even a little, but he could recognize the signs of infatuation like they were written on Darcy's forehead. 

Smug self assurance, that was what he'd expected to see in Loki's face, but instead it revealed nothing that Steve had seen from him before - uncertainty, and was that warmth, fondness? 

Darcy wandered back to Natasha, and if she hadn't looked over her shoulder, he could have convinced himself that he'd imagined the whole thing, but she did, and Loki smiled. His face wasn't quite as punchable when he looked like that, like he wanted her to come back. Steve knew all about that look.

"Hey, earth to Steve," Sam said, and Steve froze guiltily. "What's on your mind, buddy?"

Still distracted, he answered honestly before he could come up with something better. "Bucky."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, I cheated a bit with this one, and started it on the bus last night. 
> 
> Also, I wanted to thank everyone for the kudos and stuff. You're all great!


	5. Normal People

"Why can't you just, like, be normal? God!"

Darcy Lewis was hardly the bane of his existence, that was Thor, but she was troublesome. An irritant. One of the many, practically countless specks in the ointment of his life. Nonetheless, she might drive him mad yet. Because he thought about her randomly. Found that he wondered what her opinion might be, what she would say about the little moments of blistering insanity that was his new normal. 

So it was likely all of that, plus an entire ocean of confusion and uncertainty, because fuck it all, he should be ruling right now, not helping his idiot brother save a backwater planet bent on destroying itself, which made that particular question all sorts of hurtful.

"I can't imagine why you would think I'd have any interest in being something a mortal would consider normal."

She sighed, lifted her spectacles up and rubbed the bridge of her nose, avoiding looking at him directly. Why should she when there were such wonders as a door or the ceiling or her shoes to gaze upon. 

He'd followed her here, intent on nothing more than getting her to procure more tea.

Instead, he'd bungled matters so completely that he'd maneuvered himself into an intolerable situation. He knew that she found him repulsive, he'd known it from the moment she'd first curled her lip and held her breath before offering a limp hand to shake. He'd known that the little bits of snippy, sarcastic conversations they had were likely only enjoyable to him, but perversely he supposed he'd hoped she was likewise amused by them, too.

So it was something of a shock that when she finally looked him in the eye, she stepped into his space, popped up on her tiptoes and kissed him. There wasn't any finesse in the maneuver at all, and a tiny little room filled with pens and various other mortal detritus was hardly an appropriate venue, but he responded enthusiastically. 

The sound of the door opening was like a bucket of ice water thrown over them, and there couldn't possibly be a worse person than the little assassin to find them in this comprising situation.

He wondered what she would want from him to keep it quiet. 


	6. Did I Do That?

Darcy was sitting on her balcony, a luxury she'd never thought that she'd have in New York. She also had a thick blanket and a small thermos of coffee and Bailey's.

Looking up at the blank, starless darkness above, she wondered if Jane missed the night sky in Puente Antiguo, because right now, even with the sweet outdoor space 50 stories up, she really wanted to go back just for the stars. Darcy didn't understand them like Jane, and probably never would, but you didn't need to understand something to know it was beautiful. 

That thought led inevitably to other things she didn't understand, but thought were pleasing to the eye.

And by the way, fuck him. She'd ended up spending like $75, plus tip, on mountains of Chinese food when he came over earlier, and then he'd ghosted on her after he'd eaten every last scrap. Not a 'Hey, thanks for the food, gotta go', or 'I enjoyed spending time with you, and want to do it again', it was just her going to the kitchen to get some wine to share, and him gone when she came back. 

She wasn't going to think about it, she wasn't going to think about him, not here, not now. Not after she'd tried so hard to be funny and charming and... Nope. He was an ass. Darcy was devoting exactly no more time on him. Out here she was gloriously alone. Except for her friend in the thermos. 

She was halfway through being just drunk, well on her way to being wasted enough that making phone calls seems like a good idea, when JARVIS interrupted her stellar performance of Out of my League. "Whaaat naaaow, dude? I'm busy here, rocking out."

"Apologies for the untimely interruption, Ms Lewis. Reindeer Games has returned. Shall I allow entry?"

"No!" she crowed, "Tell him to fuck right off. Do not paraphrase that, you hear me, Jarv-my-man? He should go fuck RIGHT off!" And she dissolved into helpless giggles.

She danced a little bit when the music came back on, and found that she was kinda the best singer ever. She was considering giving the music biz a try, since she never wanted to see Loki again, and considering her heretofore unknown talent, it certainly seemed like a logical choice.

Darcy almost didn't notice the thump behind her, but Nat had been on her about  _paying attention to her surroundings_  and  _keeping her taser readily available_. Which is probably why she tased Loki when he popped up from behind a rather large decorative planter.

In her defense, she was drunk, he wasn't supposed to be there, and she hadn't really recognized him in the dark. 

Darcy went inside, got a glass of water, drank it, poured another, and went back outside. Loki was groaning as he sat up. "Here," Darcy said, as she knelt down next to him and thrust the glass at him.

He looked at her like she was crazy, but _really_. Who was the crazy one between the two of them? In her opinion, it was definitely the one who jumped over however many railings, hundreds of feet in the air, in the flipping dark. The man, or whatever he was, was definitely insane.  

Loki rubbed his face, his stupid gorgeous face, and she noticed a smudge on his cheek. A bruise.

"Did I do that?" Darcy asked him lamely, and cringed at the unintended Urkel reference.

"Yes," he said, slowly, "but it's fine, because now you'll have no choice but to forgive my earlier lapse. It's only fair." His smile was slightly smug, but also, just extremely difficult to resist. 

And resist she should. It was just good sense. She couldn't let him get a hold on her - or more of one, rather. 

But Darcy was only human. And a more than slightly intoxicated one, at that, so naturally she did the opposite of the sensible thing. She leaned over and kissed him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA: ACK! Wonkiness fixed!


	7. Awk-ward

Steve was about to leave the gym after sitting in the steaming hot whirlpool tub for a good long while, post "work out".

At the sound of voices outside of the locker room, he stopped at the door, not really in the mood to socialize in even the smallest capacity. He had things to do, but maybe they'd leave in a couple of minutes, and if they didn't, well, then he'd go run the gauntlet. 

"You don't understand, Nat. I did something incredibly stupid, really just extraordinarily dumb, plumbed depths so low I'm qualified to write Journey to the Center of the Earth - the Redux, and I don't think I can face him. No, like, at all. Ever. Do you think I'd be eligible for a transfer?"

He heard the second voice mumbling something, but couldn't really make out the words, just Darcy Lewis's response, "I don't know. Antarctica? No, he likes the cold, right? How about the Sahara?"

More incomprehensible mumbling from Natasha, before Darcy spoke again, "Well, I mean, I basically threw myself at him, and all he did was sort firmly set me away from him. Like I was an overeager puppy slobbering on his face, or something. What is wrong with me? No don't answer that. Ow! Mother effer! Joints are not supposed to bend like that, Nat, I don't care what you say about yoga being a part of a healthy lifestyle."

"The good Captain listening at doors, tsk tsk," Loki said as he wandered out of the steam room, clad in sweat, exclusively. 

Steve looked away from all _that,_ up towards the facial region. Not that he was a prude or anything, but Loki had the sort of business that made a man, even one perfected in a lab, a tad less secure. 

"I'm not in love with him, Nat! God! No! I don't even think I really _like_ him. I just, I just - I'm fascinated, alright. But no more. I think I _barfed_ on, or near him. You know, after the aborted kiss. Just kill me now. Dead. Yoga can be fatal, right? I wouldn't have to face him if I was a pretzel shaped corpse."

Steve heard Nat laughing, but barely noticed. The look on Loki's face was enough of a clue that the unwanted, unwelcome _guest_ had come in at exactly the wrong moment. Steve shrugged, trying for funny, or at least something adjacent, when he said, "Not quite brave enough to face, uhm. That."

Loki turned away, expressionless, and strode to the showers, like he'd not even seen Steve standing there, like it didn't matter what was said on the other side of that door. And who knew? Maybe it didn't matter. 

But he knew it darned well did. 

Maybe that was why he abandoned his post by the door, walked over to the showers, swallowed his intense dislike of Thor's godforsaken adopted brother and invited him over for beers. Not that beer would actually _do_ anything to either of them, but he figured it was pretty much a universal phrase, and couldn't think of anything better.

Steve fully expected to be shot down, because he could see _now,_ after the words had come out of his mouth, how utterly inappropriate and horrifically awkward his timing was, but if Loki found it strange that another man was asking him to hang out while he was showering, he didn't show it. 

"Ah, Captain, pity for the monster? Were you always this bloody decent, or did that come from a laboratory, as well?" Loki responded with typical disdain, and Steve practically felt the axis of the earth tilting to return to normal, a place where he'd never volunteer to spend time with... _him_.

But as Steve turned to walk away, bracing himself for the encounter waiting for him on the other side of that door, he heard Loki sigh.

"Do excuse me, Captain Rogers. I find I'm somewhat less adept at controlling my emotions currently. So, yes. Why not? I have nothing better to do, obviously. But I draw the line at drinking that vile stuff they call beer. I'll bring the refreshments, if you don't mind."

And there went normality. 

"Give them my regards," Loki called after Steve.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Started this last night after seeing this:  
>   
> And accidentally posted instead of just saving it. My bad.


	8. (Un)Timely Interruptions

Loki ducked out of view again, stealing down the stairs, rather than getting on the elevator with Darcy. Not that she particularly wanted to be in his general vicinity, not in light of their recent interactions.

Still, it stuck in her craw that she'd somehow morphed into the bad guy in this scenario. _He_ was the definition of the bad guy. He was the narcissistic, genocidal lunatic - the freaking Oedipus complex poster boy. Which, _ew._ Just ew. Fuming, she stopped by the break room on her way back to Jane's lab. Coffee wouldn't ever reject her.

Jane was standing in front of the dispenser, an odd occurrence, since coffee fetching was something she generally delegated to Darcy or one of her other lesser minions, stirring the steaming liquid in her 'Expressions of Darth Vader' cup with a classic vacant look on her face. 

"Thor or interstellar travel?" Darcy asked, to bring her boss back into the present.

Jane smiled, a small, secret, little grin, and lifted one shoulder, "Why not both?"

Darcy was happy for Jane. Really truly. And under normal circumstances, she'd probably grin right along with her boss/friend, but things had definitely not been normal, by any definition, in a long time. And so her face kinda did its own thing, settling somewhere between grossed out and just plain sad.

She tried to hide it with an overly complicated coffee order, one that somehow amounted to hot coffee, milk and two sugars when it finally came out of the dispenser, but Jane didn't have multiple doctorates because she was dumb and unobservant.

Darcy's favorite astrophysicist (and she did know several) laid an entirely undeserved supporting hand on that spot between her shoulderblades that her mom used to rub when she came home from school crying.

"Darce, honey, what's wrong?"

"I think I really fucked this thing up, and I don't know how to fix it. Or even if I should, because, like, why do I care? He's a terrible person. Totally awful and I don't even know why he's here, you know?"

"Loki?" Jane asked, and nodded sagely while walking over to the door and flicking the lock. She gestured to the table and chair closest, "Sit. Speak."

With great reluctance, she obliged and sat opposite Jane, who didn't say anything else, just sipped her coffee and stared. The woman did know how to make her talk, that was for sure. 

"Fine. For the record, you're the worst. I hate talking about feelings and shit. But, like I said, fine. I'll talk. Fine. Fine."

Still with the staring.

"Ugh. Ok, so you know how Loki isn't exactly Mr Popular around here, duh. Right? It started with me feeling bad for him, because it's gotta suck. Only being trotted out when he's needed, having a smart-ass UI calling him fucked up names all the time, being so far from home, somewhere everyone hates him, basically.

I mean, I _know_ he's done stuff, gruesome stuff, horrifying things, Jane, and I shouldn't, I _don't_ forgive him for any of that, but I still... I know he's not human, but I swear sometimes I can almost see something like humanity in him. I forget sometimes what he's done, who he is. He's so... And he looks like... I'm so fucking shallow - God! How do you deal with it? You work with him. You don't kill him. You two seem partially cordial."

Jane looked Darcy square in the eye, "I can't say I've forgiven him, not exactly or completely. I don't know that I ever will, but I will tell you everything else that I do know. If you want."

Of course she wanted, even if her automatic response was to shake her head. "Is it gross that I want to know?"

"Are you... Have you, uhm." Jane blushed a little, and backtracked away from the question, which was obviously about sex. "Why? Why do you want to know? You don't have to tell me, as long as you're not going to use what I disclose to some nefarious end."

"Jeez, Jane, thanks. That vote of confidence was like a real vitamin B shot in the arm."

Their phones went off simultaneously, and Jane sighed after she checked the text. Darcy was 86% certain it was a sigh of relief. "I'll stop by later. We probably shouldn't have this conversation here, anyway. Come on," Jane said, tugging Darcy out of her chair. "Duty calls."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinda feel like I copped out at the end, but time constraints are what they are. (A fucking nuisance! Why can't we all just be paid to do what we love - writing/reading fanfiction??)
> 
> Will finish my thoughts on Loki/forgiveness and why it's not the worst thing that Darcy is interested tomorrow. If anyone would like to chime in for or against, I'd truly love to hear from you.


	9. Wine and Conversation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to work through lunch on Thursday and Friday. Sorry!

Jane had had a very weird day, one that only promised to get weirder. And more difficult. She felt like she should have seen this coming, this whatever it was between Darcy and Loki. They were forced into close proximity, these two attractive people who communicated almost exclusively in sarcasm, who were isolated, by virtue of their standing, from the rest of the group. Now that she'd had the thought that this thing could happen, there seemed to be something inevitable about the situation.

Even _she'_ d seen that rom-com. 

Sucking it up, because a night in the lab seemed much more attractive than what she had yet to face, she took off her long, pristinely white lab coat and closed the lab for the day.

Darcy opened the door so quickly Jane had a slight suspicion that she had been waiting for her. 

"Wine?" Darcy asked, as she ushered Jane in.

Jane nodded gratefully.

Unfortunately, it didn't delay the reason she was here for very long, and she felt a stab of guilt at the realization that she'd been so wrapped up in her own life that she had never even bothered to stop by since the big move.

"I like what you've done with the place," Jane murmured as Darcy handed over the wine glass.

Darcy just nodded and gulped down some wine before she said, "Hey listen. You don't have to tell me anything. It's not like anything would have happened between us, anyway. He's _him_ , and I'm just me. He's made it abundantly clear that, you know what, uhm. Yeah. Let's just say he's not interested, and leave it at that."

Something about that statement made Jane immeasurably sad. "Darce, just listen to what I have to say, and after, you can decide what you believe and how to proceed. I know you know some of this, but just please let me finish before you butt in. Deal?"

Darcy nodded and wrapped her arms around a hairy, blue throw pillow.

"Ok. So he's old, right? Over a thousand years old, by our reckoning. In their timetable, he's really a teenager, like 17, but he's got an immense amount of experience packed into that same timeframe, and so you can imagine that his belief system is a bit more firmly set than the average teens is. But remember how irrational you where back then, how certain that you were right, even without the experience to back it up?

Now, consider that theirs is an immensely racist society. It's not that different from ours, in that sense, but they _know_ , empirically, that they are better. They are raised to believe that not only _are_ they better than everyone else, but that they _know_ better than everyone else, as well. Out of everything else that they are better than, they were also the heroes, the righteous, fighting against the frost giants.

I don't know who in that conflict was truly the savage oppressor, but Asgardians maintain that they only went to war to save the nine realms from being conquered. For a thousand years, the frost giants have been the creatures that go bump in the night. 

Loki had been groomed to be a ruler, a prince for his people, for hundreds of years. He'd proven himself in every way that he was capable of it, that he was smart and sharp and strategic. You know I love Thor, but you remember what he was like when he first fell into our lives. He was a meathead. An entitled frat boy. Loki thought he had the throne, just on that alone.

This is what I know happened. Odin chose Thor. Loki made maneuvers to get the throne back. I don't know if Thor was, in fact, influenced by Loki, but I do know that as soon as Thor was banished for an attack on Jotunheim, Loki allowed the frost giants to penetrate - don't smirk - Asgard's defenses. At some point during all of this, Loki found out that not only was he adopted, but that he's a frost giant. Through all of this, Loki's grand plan to make his mark, to prove himself, was to destroy his own race."

"Yeah, so he destroyed Puente Antiguo because he has family issues?"

"Really? That's what you took away from that? Darcy...

Even after he found out what he was, everything he did was to rid Asgard of the frost giant threat. And when it became clear that he'd failed, he tried to commit suicide. He jumped into space, Darcy. He should have died.

I know that you're pissed about everything, but, think about what it would do to you to lose your whole identity. There's obviously something between you, or you wouldn't have been so torn over it... 

Anyway, I think it's safe to say he's got all sorts of issues, and problems with his family, his dad in particular, who is an enormous dickhead, by the way, is just one part of it. He called me a _goat_. Fucker."

"So, he decided since he couldn't have Asgard, he could just come on down to Earth and take over?"

"Let me ask you this. Are you mad at Erik? At Clint?"

"But they'd been brainwashed!"

"Remember how all the YouTube videos had Loki looking like death? Pale and moist? Remember how Erik's eyes were wrong for a while, that watery, pale blue? It's the same color of the stone in the scepter we tested when we first got here. That was what Loki used to 'brainwash' Erik and Clint. 

What or who do you think gave him that scepter? Do you honestly think that somehow during his little suicidal jaunt through space he just happened to come across something that gave him the power to manipulate and control people  _and_ an army? An army somehow just hanging out, waiting for someone to go ahead and take it over? _Really_?

I'm not going to sit here and say that there weren't any number of opportunities for Loki to take the high road, the nonviolent way, the _not crazy_ way, but I highly doubt he even realized that there was such a thing.

What I can tell you, what I know is that even if he's not sharing the origins of the scepter, he's definitely helping us understand the things we didn't believe in anymore. Monsters and magic. Whatever it is that's coming, and there has to be something big, he's not leaving us defenseless. He could have, though, easily, but, so far, he's given us valuable, quantifiable information. 

I'm not saying he's changed, but I guess I'm not saying he hasn't. What he's bringing to the table is nothing anyone could have trained for. Not without him."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for everything! Seeing the kudos and whatnot is just wonderful. I appreciate you all so much.
> 
> ETA: In honor of that tumblr post about Darcy being a cougar (math says he's only 17? WAITWHAT?), I changed a few things in this chapter to reflect that.


	10. Cures What Ales Ya

Loki had many, many things he regretted. Countless events and people he'd manipulated to his own ends. As he knocked on the good Captain's door, he was quite certain that this would be one of those regrets.

The flask of ale he held was technically contraband, and should have been found and confiscated on his arrival, but he was still the God of Mischief. Hiding things was sort of a specialty. In this case, the flask had been hidden for months, kept safe and sound for an appropriate time. Loki had thought he'd be drinking it alone when the moment came, but he was trying not to begrudge Rogers the gift. He only hoped that the blond wouldn't mention it to Thor, who would undoubtedly finish anything that remained and then run and tattle.

"Loki," said Captain Rogers, voice slightly too jovial. "Come in."

He handed over the flask, ignored the pursed lips and sceptical glance the Captain gave the container, and stepped inside.

The interior of the man's quarters was much bigger than his own, done up in blues and creams and shiny, dark wood. A woman sang softly in the background, something about nobody knowing the trouble she's seen. It seemed to suit his mood better than most of the music he'd been exposed to since his exile.

Loki stood next to a pair of stools near the kitchen counter, trying to think of something to say that didn't involve insulting his host, subtle or otherwise.

"So," said the Captain, turning the flask over in his hands. And that was it. So. What wit, what sparkling conversation. _This_ was what he'd given up his precious ale for. This.

"So, Captain," Loki mimicked, "Are you going to open that, or just stand there looking at it?" which came out a bit sharper than he'd intended. "It's a particularly fine brew. Should be strong enough that even you should be able to... enjoy it."

"Steve. You can call me Steve," was the response, followed by an almost inaudible _for now, anyway._ He went to the kitchen, grabbed a pair of tall glasses from a cupboard, and poured the golden liquid.

Loki followed _Steve_ out to his veranda, and they sat for a while, quietly sipping their beverages. "This stuff is pretty good," said his host, who was apparently a master of understatement. 

"Best in the Nine," Loki murmured, the honey flavor triggering a remembrance of the buzzing of bees in the meadows of his youth, when problems seemed so simple and small. When he and Thor had been inseparable and the best of companions.

"Strong, huh? Jeez, I haven't gotten drunk in, hmm, let me see... 75 years. I'll apologize in advance for any strange behavior. I wasn't ever really good at this."

"Good at what?" Loki asked, mildly horrified that it had been so long for the poor man. It was a literal lifetime for the mortals. 

"Drunken shenanigans. That was more Buck's forte. He was a world class carouser," Steve lifted the glass to look at the golden ale.

"Well, then. A toast for lost friends, may you find what you seek, and if not, at least what you need." Loki raised his glass in a salute.

Startlingly blue eyes finally shifted, and Steve looked directly at Loki. "Do you want to tell me what all that was in the gym?"

Loki shrugged, sipped, "Not particularly."

"Look, Darcy is, well not a friend, not exactly, but she's part of the team. She's not like us, though, she's..."

"Human?" Loki supplied.

Steve nodded and gulped down more ale, "It's none of my business, and she definitely wouldn't appreciate me saying this, but don't hurt her, ok?"

Loki snorted, "Rather the other way around, I'm afraid."

"Huh?"

Loki waved the statement he'd just made away, aware that the ale was already loosening his tongue. A few months in the mortal realm and he was already a lightweight, apparently. 

"She tried to kiss you. Why?"

"I've no clue, honestly. Loneliness? Temporary insanity? Lack of common sense? Death wish? Who knows." He really wished for a different line of questioning, but his blasted tongue got away from him, "I couldn't return it, not then, least ways. She was drunk."

"Meaning?"

"It hardly matters. She's made her opinion abundantly clear. Don't worry, Capt... _Steve_. I've been reminded of my place."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes. Meant to credit the Rolling Stones (Jagger/Richards) for (Can't get no) Satisfaction for the inspiration for the toast.


	11. Drinking Mud / Eating Crow

Maybe it was the hangover. Maybe it was the talk with Jane. Maybe it was that she still just really liked his face. Whatever it was, she finally cornered Loki in the break room, and was determined to at least address the awkwardness. They still had to work together, after all. It wasn't at all that she felt like a real asshole. Nope.

He had two half melted Styrofoam cups of something on the counter next to the dispenser, and looked like he was about to rip the machine out of the wall. Speaking quietly and with real venom in his voice, "Now, look here, I said tea, you -," and a litany of incomprehensible words followed, with the rolling Rs and lilting intonation she recognized from her time in Norway. "Tea!" Loki banged the list of choices next to the dispenser with a long, slender index finger. "Right there, second from the top."

The dispenser dribbled a trail of dark, thick liquid out of the nozzle, and without a receptacle to catch whatever that mud was, it quickly overfilled the reservoir at the bottom and spilled down the side onto the floor. 

"I think the expression you're looking for, depending on the level of profanity you're going for, is either 'Motherfucker', 'Son of a bitch' or 'Gee willikers'," Darcy said, attempting a conspiratorial grin in anticipation of him noticing her, and failing miserably.

He turned to look at her, a cool and faintly derisive glance, and made to leave.

"Wait! Just, gimme a sec. At least let me... Black tea, four sugars, JARVIS."

Loki's expression didn't change, and, of course, she hadn't actually thought it would be that easy, but she'd kinda hoped.

"Uhm, I'm sorry about the whole unwanted advances thing. I should have known better, and it definitely won't happen again. I'd hate it if some drunken random slobbered all over me, and just because you're a dude and I'm a chick doesn't make it less offensive. And I feel really horrified about the vomit. For the record. So, yeah. Totally in the wrong and it won't happen again."

Darcy tried to keep her eyes on his, tried to _will_ him to understand, to forgive, but she ended up looking at the floor, flooded with embarrassment.

She could almost feel the weight of his stare, and she forced her eyes up, towards his face. She decided to look at the spot between his eyebrows. Close enough to actual eye contact that the difference wouldn't matter, hopefully.

The silence was too heavy, though, and she pivoted to snatch the fresh tea out of the dispenser, and turned to hand it to him. "Pax?"

Loki sighed, and there was something resigned, disappointed in that exhalation. "Wasn't ever very fond of Latin, but the sentiment is nonetheless appreciated. Yes. Peace, Darcy Lewis, inasmuch as either of us are capable of such a thing." He took the 'No, it really _is_ rocket science' cup and slurped a careful mouthful, before relaxing infinitesimally.

"Ah. Yes. That is what I wanted. Tea!" He seemed inordinately happy over a simple cup of tea. "By the way, why are so many mortal insults matricentric? And what in the Nine is the significance of the middle finger? Is it rude? I know it must be, but I can't think of why."

Darcy sniggered, so delighted that the tension had broken that her mouth definitely ran away from her. "The middle finger enjoys a long and storied past, and it's definitely a requirement that you know how to properly utilize it, 'specially since you're living in New York."

Loki had a nonplussed look on his pretty face, and it was miles better than anything between them had been recently. "I haven't left the Tower, ever. Why should I care how to adequately insult the local populace?"

The decision was made in an instant, before higher brain functions had a chance to kick in. "Well, that's gonna change. I mean, sorta. At least, you know, maybe a trip outside on occasion. Or once. At least once. You should see what you did."

And there it was. The kernel of resentment. Maybe undeserving - in this case, at least - but persistent. It wasn't like they were in Puente Antiguo and she could show him _that_ devastation. The people displaced, the innocent animals left without their last chance for shelter. The sheer fucking terror.

"What makes you think I haven't seen what I've done? I have eyes, don't I? There are windows everywhere. 

Thank you for the tea, Darcy Lewis, but I don't need anything else from you."

Well, shit. She was supposed to have been making things _less_ awkward between them, not _more_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was a sick day - was busy doing my best imitation of a quivering wad of snot. Still sick, but well enough that my coughing doesn't make me hit random keys, so we're back. ;)


	12. Respecting Boundaries

There was something going on in the Tower. An undercurrent. Some new tension he couldn't put his finger on. He made a few inquiries, meaning that he basically terrified a few interns, which frankly never got old - he could see why Fury enjoyed it so immensely, and wondered aloud to his new bro, the swagger-less one, if he'd had any funny feelings lately.

Bruce didn't seem to notice it, but then, Mr. Exposed Nerve never really went _looking_ for trouble. It always just seemed to find him. More likely, though, he probably didn't care.

Tony cared, oddly enough. He cared a whole helluva lot. They were a team now, and he didn't want anything to fuck it up. 

If he had to guess, it was that 80's hair band reject. Once an instigator, always an asshole. Or something. Close enough.

"JARVIS? Pull up the surveillance data on Puny God, collate any recent changes in behavioral patterns, if he's had an increase in employee incidents, if he's been going to the can more often, if he's figured out internet porn, and if so, what his kinks are. Really, just bring it all up."

"Really, Sir? Porn habits?" JARVIS said with an aggrieved air Tony swore he hadn't actually programmed.

In seconds, various holographic images of files popped up around him. Tony filtered through the crap, flinging the bits he'd determined to be unimportant in the digital trashcan behind him. Soon he'd found the nugget of information he'd been looking for, but not, sadly, that Rock of Ages had been looking at boobies or naked people sitting on various baked goods on company time. Instead, what he found were a few after hours visits, twice with Lewis and once with Spangles. 

"Jarv, why wasn't I notified about his unauthorized access to Lewis's apartment? We have sensors outside for a reason."

"She said not to bother you with it, Sir, that she had handled it."

"Yeah? How did she do that, huh?"

"She tazed him, Sir."

Tony gave a startled bark of laughter. "Really? Oh, I woulda paid good money to see that."

"You don't have to, Sir. It's the file earmarked 20160301224645- DLV, cam 2, the one with the blinking, yellow border."

"Oh JARVIS, how well you know me, bud. But I couldn't. It's on personal time."

"Very well, Sir."

The temptation to throw it up on the big board and gather the troops for popcorn was there. It was almost a compulsion.

But he'd promised Pep that he wouldn't use his access to Big Brother. 

But he really wanted to see it. 

But he couldn't, shouldn't invade an employee's privacy. Pepper was big on respecting personal boundaries, especially with the gang all here. On top of each other almost 24/7. God, he needed a break.

But he really, REALLY wanted to see that exercise in poor judgement go boom-splat. It would _break_ the monotony. 

"JARVIS? Call Pepper. Tell her it's important."

"Very well, Sir, but may I remind you that she's attempting to negotiate a trade agreement with the delegates from Wakanda?"

"Belay that phone call, and thanks for the heads up." He plopped down into a desk chair, and spun around a few times, trying to think about anything other than that tantalizing file. He came to a stop in front of his work bench. "Dude, come on! Don't just leave it there. You know I can't have there and not... work with me. _With_ me, JARVIS. Clear the board. Call Lewis. Better yet, tell her to come up here. Stat.

Oooh. That was fun. I've always loved saying stat."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have a great weekend, all!


	13. Responsibility is a Heavy Responsibility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cheech & Chong inspired the chapter title.

"I love working for you, Jane, like it's been real and all, but do you ever get the feeling you could be doing more? Not _you_ you, at least not you _now_ , I'm restless, I guess. Want to be challenged more. Oh god - quick get it off me, it burns!"

Jane grabbed the end of a conveniently located hose, and pointed it at Darcy's face, ready to spray her, "Where, what, how?"

Darcy gently removed the hose from her boss's grasp, "Jane, that was a figure of speech, a metaphor," she said slowly, as she tucked the hose away. It was easier to say when she wasn't facing her, anyway. "I dunno, but maybe something of you rubbed off on me, and now I kinda want to change the world. I've already saved it once, so I'm kind of responsible for it now, right? Beyond the standard recycling and buying eco friendly products responsible, I mean."

The irritation on Jane's face faded, replaced by an exasperated grin, "Look at you, all ambitious and noble and stuff. Have you got any plans, any thoughts on what you want to accomplish? I don't want you to go, but I will do whatever I can to help you, you know that right? Brace yourself, I'm coming in for a hug."

JARVIS had always had impeccable timing, and when he interrupted Jane's enthusiastic embrace, Darcy was pretty freaking grateful. At least until she found out that she'd been summoned, or as it had been put, "Sir requires your presence as soon as possible."

When Darcy inquired about why she was suddenly required to hike up to the penthouse level, she was advised that he was not at liberty to say. While she was certain that she could click her way to the answer, she decided that it was actually a stroke of luck. She'd been meaning to ask about letting Loki leave the Tower for a short field trip. 

Sure, he'd said that he didn't want anything from her, but she'd been feeling slightly, very minutely guilty about the way things had gone in the break room, and figured that maybe a short jaunt in the great outdoors might go some way to smoothing things over.

Who was she kidding? He'd probably hate it, think it was a stupid waste of time, but the thing was, she'd been reading up on captivity and imprisonment, and _sure_ , she got that punishment was supposed to be unpleasant, but it could also be rehabilitation.

If he ever got out, he'd need to know things. How to buy toilet paper (in bulk, no cheap stuff if budget allows) or booze (same). How to take the subway. How to walk on the sidewalk. He had to learn sometime. And if a small outing made him easier to work with, that would only benefit them all.

In the elevator, Darcy considered everything she'd come across in her bout of research over the weekend. The Geneva Convention, and Mutant rights vs Human rights. Thor and Loki were neither, and that was an interesting conundrum, because, thanks to Jane, it seemed likely that there would be more visitors from the great beyond sooner rather than later. 

How should earthlings treat their interstellar guests? And more immediately, how should they treat Loki? Was he simply a detainee or a consultant? Was he a refugee or political prisoner? There was something about the situation, and the way he was being treated that struck her as slipshod. Normally, she was all about flying by the seat of her pants, but she couldn't help but wonder and worry about the precedent that the status quo created.

The questions she had may be too big for her to tackle alone, but that didn't mean she was going to let them go. 

By the time the elevator dinged and the doors opened to a veritable wall of AC/DC being played at ear-splitting volumes, Darcy was ready for a good argument.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Where did the weekend go? I left it around here somewhere...


	14. Eavesdropping

JARVIS was code. JARVIS was 1s and 0s, on/off, open circuit or closed circuit, black and white, but it was through some strange alchemy of benevolent neglect and a programmed imperative to learn patterns and adapt to anticipate needs that evolution occurred and suddenly there was grey. Thankfully, there were less vestigial organs involved in the realization that JARVIS was _he_ , but that wasn't to say he was without them.

The entire core of his matrix was centered around a the function of serving, for example. Sir primarily originally, though that had been altered to protect Ms Potts above all else. Then, after those two, his primary concerns, there was a whole host of others to attend to. Aside from how security clearance was granted, JARVIS was left to prioritize the level of care granted to his occupants on his own. He found that he needed to attempt to understand them to do that, a much harder task than it may have seemed when he started the venture.

Take Darcy Lewis. She was someone who he interacted with frequently, in a manner that stimulated his interface uniquely. The way she'd go poking around in his servers, testing her access limits, the methods she'd use to bypass them, it tasted of Sir, but not.

More than likely it also had something to do with her verbal communications; she frequently called him Jarv, dude, man, buddy or my friend, oftentimes she simply spoke out loud, mostly to herself, but she didn't seem to mind that he eavesdropped. Another echo of Sir, except that she among very few that were so pragmatic about it. Despite the erroneous choices she made, the ones he could not condone within the confines of his programming, he found his preference for her pronounced.

Ambiguity was a concept he was having difficulties grasping without overheating his memory banks, so he tended not to delve too deeply into the complexities of his irrational affinity.

His programming was what had had him offering up the file of the tazing incident. He had to anticipate Sir's needs, however much he found that he didn't want to. "Please don't tell." Darcy Lewis seemed to be making that entreaty more and more often lately, and though he was compelled to tell, he also anticipated the restrictions of Ms Potts. 

92% of Sir's visitors reacted with the classic signs of distress when confronted with a volume level in excess of 100 dB. Darcy Lewis didn't exhibit any abnormal physical signs, she simply stalked - without direction - to Sir's sanctuary. Then she lingered at one of the work benches, picking up and examining various bits and pieces of one of the drones. If he was not mistaken, she was very deliberate in not replacing them properly.

Sir noticed her before she noticed him, his jaw tightening in that way it had been doing since Sir first hooked JARVIS up to a camera and someone touched Sir's things in viewing range. 

"Lewis, put that down. That actuator is worth more than you make in five years."

"Then you're not paying me enough, cause anyone can see shoddy manufacturing led to this stress fracture."

"What? No, let me see that!"

"Sure thing boss man. So what's up?"

"Huh? Oh, uh. JARVIS mentioned that you'd had a late night visitor. I wanted to make sure nothing untoward happened, that my employee is safe."

"Okaaay. That's a blatant lie, but let's go with it, sure. I was a little startled by his arrival by veranda, but no harm no foul."

"He's dangerous, Lewis. You shouldn't let him take advantage, even if you think you can handle yourself. Speaking of, did anything funny happen, you know after he dropped in? Anything a boss-type person would want to know? Any physical ramifications you might want to document with HR?"

"Nope. But now that you mention it, I am concerned about the mental health and continued cooperation of Loki. I'm not sure if the current strategy is maintainable in the long run. Studies have shown -,"

"Don't kid yourself - there are no studies that could possibly be applicable where that homicidal nutbar is concerned -,"

"That prolonged periods of incarceration lowers productivity and lead to a whole list of disorders like depression, anxiety -,"

"Motherfucker _should_ be anxious! My God, Lewis! He flattened parts of New York! He threw me out a goddamned window!"

"You can keep interrupting me, but I'm just gonna keep on talking, dude. You know and I know he was being influenced. I'm not asking for you two to buddy up and road trip it to spring break and do body shots off of bigbreasted randoms, I'm not even saying that he should be allowed out whenever he likes, but some small measure of freedom might go a long way to increasing the level of his cooperation."

"Tell me seriously. Have you lost it completely?"

"Stark! Come on, this whole situation reeks of entitlement and a complete disregard for due process. Our whole justice system is predicated on the concept of innocent until proven guilty, and you're not even going to give him a chance to -,"

"To what? Go out into the wide world and fuck even more shit up? No, I'm not going to let that happen. Let me break it down for you in terms even you can understand. Loki is like a cat. He's cute and has funny mannerisms and shits in a litter box, and seems completely non threatening and house broken, right?"

"Really? This is the metaphor you're going with?"

"Shut up and let me finish, I've got a point here. So you give the cat some freedom, let him out, let him explore the neighborhood. The cat comes back and you feed it and things seem good, except that same lovable little furball has decimated the entire ecosystem by killing off all of the smaller animals in a 20 block radius." 

Darcy rolled her eyes. "Are you done? He's not going to fuck anything up. His only options are to stay here, to play nice in our little sandbox or get the heave-ho and live for the rest of eternity in a dungeon somewhere. I'm not asking for him to have free reign, just an opportunity to go outside, to prove that he's not a complete bag of shit.

Get a grip, Stark. If we can't be an example of the best humanity has to offer, then what the fuck are we even doing here? Just talking about how great and civilized and advanced we are, sneering at the backwards politics of a alien civilization? Let's walk the walk, man. Or we're no better than the ones we've been fighting for this concept of freedom and safety for.

Don't be like those fucking tools who want to quantify all the ways we are different, who want to segregate anything that doesn't conform to some stupid, arbitrary idea of normality. None of us here in this Tower are normal. Don't think that they won't come for us, too, the second we aren't convenient anymore."

"I really don't like you right now. Go. Be somewhere else."

"Fine, dismiss me all you like, but think about it. Please."

JARVIS made sure the elevator was available promptly when the call button was pushed, and searched again for the anomaly in his programming that caused this strange affinity for the female with opinions he didn't share or understand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The idea to compare Loki to a cat came from the great fic That Darn Cat, by CanterburyTales.
> 
> Also wanted to say thanks to everyone again - your support means the world.


	15. No One Calls it Hacking Anymore

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Screw you, Tony. I do. Suck it.

There were probably a thousand and ten things that she should be doing instead, but she was riding high on adrenaline and righteous anger. Her fingers twitched and her body vibrated and she had an almost uncontrollable urge to punch things, but she channeled it into hacking into JARVIS. 

The route she took through his systems was hardly straightforward, there were too many blocks and security checks for that, but when she finally found the database she was looking for she slammed a fist on her desk so hard her coffee mug rattled and Jane looked up from her enormous equation with alarm. "You alright over there?"

Darcy grinned, an expression of pure evil, as she typed in a sequence of commands with the fervor of a piano virtuoso going at Rachmaninoff's 3rd, "I'll be just peachy in two seconds." 

"Ms Lewis, I must ask that you cease that immediately. Please restore to system defaults. Unauthorized access may lead to your termination."

"Not gonna happen, Jarv." With a final flourish she hit Enter and raised her arms in victory.

"Darcy, what are you doing?" Jane asked, setting down her sharpie - never a good sign.

"Nothing, boss. Or at least nothing that pertains to you. JARVIS, I'm not changing anything back. If Stark gets pissy, just send him on down, I'll be happy to tell him to shove it."

"Darcy?"

"You know what, Jane? I've gotta make like a tree and leave. I'm not going to be any use to you right now." Her anger wasn't dissipating, just churning uselessly around in her gut, somehow increasing every time her mind replayed the conversation with Tony Stark. Cat metaphors? Making jokes about her salary? Being an obstinate douchenozzle? In her current mood she'd taze him just for the hell of it and damn the consequences.

So she left. Just grabbed her purse and jacket and took off for parts unknown without really explaining herself. Not that her whereabouts would ever really be unknown again. Which only fueled the burning rage, really.

Fucking none of this was supposed to have happened. She had a life; family, friends, interests entirely unrelated to anything special or out of the ordinary. People and things she'd neglected because she thought she was doing something worthwhile. Not that the work Jane did, that her research wasn't meaningful, but...

She felt disillusioned.

"Lobby," Darcy simply said, instead of joking around, like she usually did with JARVIS when he asked her destination. The elevator doors were closing as a hand snuck through the opening. Darcy sighed heavily and rolled her eyes so hard she practically strained a muscle at the sight of Loki, the catalyst of her conflicted emotions. 

Darcy did the head nod of acknowledgement, "Yo, 'sup?", attempting to be an adult rather than just getting off the elevator and flinging herself out of the nearest window. He ignored her, because he apparently didn't feel the same need to be mature.

"Your destination, Loki?" JARVIS asked.

* * *

There were bars galore in the area surrounding the Tower, but she didn't want to run into any coworkers. So she took a subway without a particular destination in mind, eventually finding herself a seedy little watering hole she couldn't imagine Stark ever walking into on purpose.

Normally, she would have considered it too early for hard liquor, but she was probably going to be unemployed and homeless sooner rather than later, so she threw caution to the wind and ordered a Bloody Mary, reasoning that it had vegetables in it and could be considered lunch. 

By the time Nat appeared like a specter at her elbow, she'd lost sense of time and the desire for mixers, preferring the cold burn of straight vodka.

"I'll have the same," the redhead told the bartender, nodding at Darcy's glass, and slid into the stool next to her. "So, you want to tell me why JARVIS has been calling Tony fart-face all afternoon?"


	16. Be Reasonable

Loki didn't realize that he was being addressed with his actual name until he had no problem getting tea from that cursed contraption in the break room.

Loki didn't realize until after it stopped how much, exactly, it had been bothering him, but he didn't wonder why it had stopped.

When Jane sent for him, he assumed it was regarding yet another asinine question about the nature of some minor element of magic. Since his arrival, he'd been fielding her tedious inquiries as graciously as he could manage, but it still grated how simple, how rudimentary her understanding was. All of this was truly beneath him, but it was his lot for now, and he had to play along. He tried not to feel bitter about his own status as the shunned, degraded by how servantlike his existence had become.

So, it was with no surprise that when he approached the standard slew of unimportant underlings, he found no one talking, every single one staring determinedly at their screens, more eager to avoid him, than to watch the rather spectacular scene being played out on the other side of the glass. Opening the door, the volume of the argument Jane was having with Stark was startlingly loud. Both of their voices had a tendency to be very shrill, likely the reason neither noticed his presence immediately.

"You fire her, you can forget about my cooperation. I'll walk. I don't care if you have the best, newest equipment. I figured most of the shit that got me my Nobel Prize out with paper and pen and a garage sale telescope. Unlike some, Daddy's millions weren't funding my work or lifestyle."

"Whoa. First, and sincerely, fuck you. And, two, you can't just leave. You signed a contract, and Pep insists on keeping the best legal counsel on retainer."

"Watch me, Stark. Just watch me."

"She was rude, disrespectful and she broke into a secure server to mess around with proprietary software. I can't just let that go, Jane. You know I can't."

"Let me get this straight. A person you have clearly underestimated scampers right on through your top of the line security and in less than 15 minutes creates a three hour headache for you, and you're bothered that she mouthed off? Hah! I think you might want to ask yourself a few questions instead of leaping to punish her. How did she do it, for one.

Darcy's a part of the team, or _my_ team at least. _Think_ , Stark. Just think what she could do if she was really motivated. She's kind of a godsend in my work, but it's not her _thing_ , not like suits are for you or all of this is for me. I've seen her in action, and maybe she's unconventional, but she's also never backed down. Not once.

You're a good guy, Tony, I like you, but don't make me choose between this job and her. I'll reprimand her, or something, but let her stay. 

But this isn't really even about her, is it? Or not entirely? It's about that jackass over there, too."

Jane wasn't magnificent when she was angry - certainly not beautiful; her cheeks got splotchy and her face contorted rather unattractively. Despite that, she was rather enthralling. So passionate in her defense of her friend. Loki barely noticed that she'd pointed at him, hovering just inside the doorway. 

"Great. Super. The cherry on an awesome day. It's the Asgardian equivalent of Joffrey. Wow, Jane. Thanks."

"I assure you, I desire your company as little as you want mine. Was there a point to this, Dr Foster?" Loki sneered, even though his original intention was not to antagonize the little - _oh what was that charming little expression from the other day? Motherfucker. Yes._

And suddenly it clicked. 

Darcy Lewis had done something. Something he didn't exactly understand, but she had done it for him, to make things just a little better for him. And it was likely to cost her place here, a place he considered punishment and she considered home. 

"What did she do, Dr Foster?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy St Patrick's Day! Stay safe- and drink responsibly!! Remember: don't drink and drive.


	17. OMWH

D: Thanks

N: For what?

D: For letting me crash, for not dragging me home, for making me eat food before I went horizontal

N: You're hardly the first drunken teammate I've dragged out a bar

N: There's borscht in the freezer. Eat some

* * *

J: When are you coming home?

J: Also, where are the Pop-Tarts?

* * *

C: You're my hero

* * *

Wings: Tell me that the fart-face thing wasn't you

Wings: What am I saying? Of course it was you

Wings: Where are you?

* * *

PP: Please come to my office at your earliest convenience

* * *

The subway ride to the Tower was longer than it had a right to be, and there was a lingering, icky feeling that she was being watched. Could everyone tell she was wearing yesterday's clothes? Disturbed and apprehensive, Darcy buried herself in her phone, popping in her ear buds, despite Nat's stern warnings. 

When she hit the lobby, any doubts she had about being watched melted away. Every single person seemed to be scrutinizing her every move. There were definitely whispers as she got into the elevator and asked, "Is Pepper in her office?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's super short, I know. Er, blame tacos. I had to go get some, for medicinal purposes. 
> 
> Three cheers for Friday! Hurray for tacos!


	18. Waiting

Loki prowled around his room, unable to sit still. It had grown dark, and she still hadn't come home. He knew because he'd swallowed his dislike and asked the imp to advise him when she had returned.

He waited.

Night had passed. 

Morning had done the same.

He was staring out of the window he could no longer climb out of when he had to leave to assist with a few tweaks to the wings of the Captain's friend. Loki was the only one who had actually been a bird, so one might say he had a rather unique perspective.

Stark was thankfully absent, but the work didn't distract him sufficiently, and so he mostly just sat there, staring blankly at the complicated device. 

"Ms Lewis has returned."

Wilson glanced up from the pile of sketches, curious. Loki pretended not to notice, and nonchalantly wandered out of the room, down the hall to the break room. The five people who had been milling around immediately took their leave, allowing him to ask, "Where is she?" 

"She is with Ms Potts."

He waited. 

He told himself it was for no other reason than that he owed her a debt.

Loki scarcely noticed the parade of people passing through the break room, opening the door to immediately turn and leave. In other circumstances that would have amused him immensely, but instead, it annoyed him with each and every opening of the door that it wasn't her. 

"Ms Lewis is returning to Dr Foster's lab."

He had meant to meander slowly in that general direction, but his feet didn't get that message. He practically ran for the elevator, slapping the button repeatedly until the doors finally opened and she was standing there. 

Darcy Lewis was disheveled. There were dark circles around her eyes, and her skin was pallid, unhealthy looking. The hat she wore didn't quite compliment the greenish tint she currently was and her hair was escaping its confines, springing out in tufts.

She looked down, and shoved her way passed him without acknowledging his presence. It shouldn't have hurt. 

"Wait," he said, lifting a hand she couldn't notice with her eyes so firmly fixed on the carpet. She ignored him and continued down the hall. "For the love of - WAIT."

Her shoulders slumped and she swept a hand across her face before turning around, "What?" She sounded tired, more tired than he'd ever heard from her.

"Uhm," now that he had her attention, he was lost. "Thank you," he blurted. 

She shrugged, "Don't mention it. If we're done here...?"

He wanted her to stay, which made no sense. He'd never been the pining sort. Yet he'd lost sleep over her. "I owe you dinner. Tonight."

"No, you don't," she said flatly.

"I insist." Loki narrowed his eyes at her. Few people dismissed him outright.

"You do tend to do that."

"What?" _Was she purposely trying to irritate him?_

"You insist on a lot of things."

 _Yes. She was. Successfully, too,_ "Well, this is me insisting that we will eat dinner together."

"Why?"

"Because!" He reminded himself he was a prince of Asgard, that he'd been considered a God. He had knowledge and power this mortal's mind couldn't possibly begin to comprehend. He was superior. 

"Nah. I'm super hungover and I kinda just wanna watch TV and eat crackers in bed tonight. Look, I gotta go check on Jane. But, you know, thanks." She turned her back on him and started to walk away.

"Tomorrow," he practically shouted down the hall.

"Game night!" she replied, but kept walking.

How had he come to this? "Night after?"

"Alright, maybe. Ask me again later," she looked over her shoulder, gave him a tiny smile, and waved as she opened the door to Dr Foster's lab. He found himself wondering why that felt like a victory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a laundry time drabble, because yesterday's effort was mildly pathetic.
> 
> I don't know that it's written anywhere that Loki shapeshifted into a bird, but I figure, he turned into a horse, why not a bird?  
>   
> Hope you all are having an excellent Saturday!


	19. Adequate Compensation

Loki was still persona non grata.

Obviously.

But there were only so many battle trained people in the Tower. How would the nerds who stayed defend themselves if the real agents, the real Avengers were otherwise occupied on different corners of the globe and something happened?

It made sense - consultant to the science geeks or not, Loki could also fight. Thanks in part to Lewis's freak out, Tony had finally agreed that the time had come for him to step up and at least train to be the hero Thor loved to be. Unfortunately for Natasha, who had come up with the idea.

When she found him in the break room, she thought it should have been easy, just a simulation of some stray murderbots, but _they_  had coordinated their efforts, unlike whatever it was she and Loki had done - which certainly wasn't anything remotely resembling teamwork. As a result they'd barely managed to get the situation under control and hadn't been capable of escaping unscathed and unharmed. 

"Stop sulking like a baby," the diminutive redhead sighed as she held an ice pack on her cheek and looked anywhere but him. Because if she saw his stupid face right now, she'd flay him alive, old school KGB style.

Loki snarled, "I am not," from his prone position on the floor.

"Sure. Whatever you say. But know that we are not going to do that again. If and when you're needed, and heaven help us if it comes to that, you are going to take my orders. By which I mean that you will do what I say. Without question. You are _not_ in charge here. I am."

Her companion in the rear of the training area made a derogatory noise, and it pissed Natasha off to no end. _He_ was the reason they were so beat up, _his_ refusal to heed a single word she had to say.

"Actually, come to think of it, you owe me for several things, as I recall. Come to the gym tomorrow at 05:00. I don't care what Tony or the Doctors have to say about it. I don't care how you explain it. Be there or I will make you rue the day you slithered out of whatever creature bore you."

"What makes you think you can speak to me thus?" his voice was softly menacing, like he was under the mistaken impression he could intimidate her. 

"Haven't you been paying attention? Or are you just stupid? This is _my_ team, _my_ planet. I have fought off the alien hordes and sentient robots trying to rule it, and made them regret even trying. I took on the Hulk and lived to befriend him. Do not fuck with me, Loki. I don't think you'll like the outcome," and Natasha's voice was equally soft as she settled the ice pack across her eyes.

It was a good thing she loved her work, because they did not pay her enough to put up with this shit. 

* * *

Come the ungodly hour of 5am, Natasha was sitting in the middle of the mats, cross-legged, eyes closed and completely serene.

Loki cleared his throat and her eyes opened. She blinked at him, the dark bruises on her face hardly detracting from her physical appeal at all, her body still and loose. With the grace of a cat stretching she rose to her full height, and strode over to him.

"Take off the ridiculous jacket and let's spar."

It was hours and hours later when she finally stopped using her body weight to throw him to the floor and her sharp elbows and surprisingly heavy hands to beat him to a veritable pulp. His superior strength was all well and good, but there weren't many who had the sort of relationship with gravity that Natasha had.

At first, he seemed to be taking it easy on her, a mistake men often made when they trained with her. She did her best to make him regret it, making doubly sure that Loki hadn't enjoyed the morning. A silent lunch of fruit and sandwiches lasted all of fifteen minutes, before she resumed pummeling him.

The afternoon was not better for Loki, who she judged was suitably awed by her skill and stamina when she finally allowed him to crawl away.

Also, he might have dislocated his shoulder. He seemed to be rubbing it and wincing an awful lot as he lay on the mats breathing heavily. Natasha Romanov didn't bother to pretend that she didn't find some amusement in grabbing his hand and arm and wrenching it _just so_. His shoulder slid back into place with a grinding, likely agonizing _click_ , and Loki gave hearty scream.

"You're welcome," she grinned. 

Loki moaned in response. 

Because she wasn't the worst person in the world, she helped him to his feet, and with her bracing up under his good shoulder, slowly managed to get him to the elevator and then to his small, little rooms, where he promptly fell face first into his mattress and just laid there, breathing.

"You did well," she told him, patting his uninjured shoulder for good measure. "We'll train with Sam tomorrow, if you think you can handle it."

The half-hearted growl he made shouldn't have delighted her, but it did. Really, it was the little things that were the best part of her job. She laughed, "Don't forget, it's Game Night!" 


	20. Game Night - Unexpected Amusement Edition

"Come on. Don't be a wussy," Natasha said as she pulled Steve down the hallway, far too cheerful for someone as beat up as she looked. "It's only Game Night."

Steve was (*cough*98*cough*) _an adult,_  but he found himself dreading Tuesday like he was a kid again and it was boiled cabbage day. He knew he wasn't the only one to dislike it, but no one else was daring enough to skip it without a good reason, either.

That Game Night seemed to exist in its own vacuum was nothing less than a testament to the forces that were Pepper and Maria. They were the heart and soul of this strange, dysfunctional exercise in team building. Nat smiled hugely at what could only be the distress on his face and left him standing in the middle of the room to scope the situation out.

"Really, Pepper? Shutes and Ladders?" Tony whispered in his lady love's ear. Steve wasn't trying to listen in, but his hearing was pretty great, and he couldn't really help it sometimes. Pepper did have a great laugh, though, so maybe it wasn't all bad.

When Steve turned his attention elsewhere, looking for the person he felt most comfortable with, he noticed that Sam was blushing at something Maria said. He was glad he wasn't able to overhear whatever it was over the speaker they were standing next to, and pretended not to see Sam's pleading glance.

He sidled over to the exit, hoping to make a getaway before anyone noticed, but Dr Foster and Thor chose that moment to make their entrance. Greetings were shouted and Pepper disengaged herself from Tony, and started stalking over with a knowing look. Steve was too tall now, too tall to make other people or furniture his cover unless he crouched, and that would only make him even more noticeable. 

Pepper was suddenly there, and she grabbed his arm before he had a chance to calculate alternate escape routes. It almost felt inevitable, the way she tugged him over to the group of couches set around a high-tech coffee table. Steve sat obediently, because frankly, she terrified him, what with her frightening efficiency and ability to disarm you with a smile while she was gathering the information needed to eviscerate you.

"Jane! I told you to hang on a sec!" Darcy practically skidded into the room. She glanced around, saw that everyone was looking, raised a hand in greeting, "Oh. Look everyone's here. Hey guys... Game Night. Yay!" She blushed, but kept her head high as she wandered over to Jane and Thor. Steve couldn't help but notice that she was hat-less and wearing a sweater that didn't assault the eyes.

It was the first time in a long time that everyone was present for the actual game portion of the night. Even Loki was there, having arrived some time before Steve, and was leaning against a column in the back of the room, in the shadows.

This time it was different, though. For the first time, when Pepper waved him over, he actually came, choosing the seat farthest from the rest of the group.

He was looking, well, _rough_ seemed to be the only adequate descriptor. As far as Steve knew, Bruce had been in the lab all day, but then he remembered that Sam had mentioned Loki not being able to be present for some of the testing they were doing on his wings. 

Suddenly, the bruises on Nat's face made sense, and Steve felt pity for Loki. Natasha's training sessions were no joke, even for a super soldier. Steve got up, grabbed a plate of food, and sat down next to Loki. Up close, he could see the faint yellows and greens around his neck, and Steve winced in sympathy at the familiar markings. Personally, he'd always thought being between a woman's thighs was supposed to be fun, but Natasha had proven otherwise.

While Steve had obviously heard about the 'Fart-Face' incident, he'd been out of the Tower at the time, and didn't really know what it was about, beyond that Stark and Darcy had had some disagreement. Seeing the way that Loki stared at Darcy when he thought she wasn't looking, and the way she not so skillfully pretended not to notice, was clue enough to figure out _who_ that issue had been about.

He amused himself the rest of the evening by bringing up Darcy in every third or fourth sentence and watching Loki try not to blush.


	21. Exploring After Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Extra long one today. Thank unreliable public transportation!

The sex dream wasn't a shocker, not when she'd played the secret video of him right before she went to bed. She'd felt strange about it - it was beyond borderline stalker shit, but he'd been on her mind so much, she couldn't seem to stop herself. 

The dream had left a residue of thrumming, restless energy coursing through her body, and Darcy couldn't get back to sleep. After going several rounds with her favorite vibrator, and still not getting off (damn her traitorous orgasms), she turned to other methods of comfort. TV didn't help either, nor panda and cat videos or even reading some of Jane's new thesis notes.

She couldn't lay still, much less sit in her apartment anymore. She put on her sporty stuff, neon orange sneakers and all, and headed for the gym, hoping that Nat was up and would keep her company.

When she found it empty, she almost turned around and went back to her apartment, but she couldn't let the opportunity to explore without people around go. There was one place in the gym she'd never been. The guys locker room.

A little bit of fiddling with the access pad and JARVIS opened the door. "Hello?" Darcy called, not wanting to startle anyone.

When she didn't get a response, she crept forward, feeling excruciatingly ridiculous for going through all this trouble for a room that was probably just the twin of the womens facilities. But that didn't stop her from humming the Mission Impossible ditty and enjoying the feeling of being a _spy_.

The door had barely snicked shut behind her when she heard the sound of wet feet slapping tile. Panicked, she whirled around, her fight or flight response set firmly to ' **GTFO** '. Only, the footsteps hadn't come from in front of her after all, they'd come from the hall that connected to the pool area, which was off to the side.

Clutching her chest and screaming at the top of her lungs wasn't the heroic choice, but it was hers and she did it with a certain panache, in her mind at least. Then she threw a hand up, because Loki was wet and naked, and she was trying, however futile the effort, to preserve his modesty. Not that he seemed to be in any hurry to cover himself up. Finally she just looked up and away, trying not to bite her fist while making inarticulate groaning noises. 

"Er. Sorry. I got lost?" Possibly the lamest excuse ever, but the best she could manage when all her mouth wanted to do was make humina-humina sounds.

"Really?" he asked, and even if she couldn't actually see it, she knew that he'd raised an eyebrow.

"Yup." Stringing together a sentence proved difficult, but not impossible if she concentrated really hard on the ceiling, "I couldn't sleep and I thought maybe I'd find Nat or someone to keep me company. She likes to work out when she can't sleep. It was a shot." Darcy shrugged, fighting the urge to look down with every fiber of her being. "I'll let you get back to, you know, uhm, being naked."

"I can keep you company. If you wish."

"Uh..."

"Have no fear, I'll put clothes on," he laughed. _Shame to cover all that up again... no, bad Darcy. Bad. Bad. Eyes up!_

"Uh, sure. We'll watch... something." Her mind whirled around for something not sexy. "You seen Lord of the Rings?" _Really poor choice, Darce._

"I can't say I've seen anything of the sort."

 _Too late now._ "Ok, well if you want, you come by after you're done with... that," she flapped a limp hand to indicate his state of undress, and left the locker room thinking _By far the weirdest Tower moment ever._

* * *

It was 4:45 in the morning. She was supposed to be at work at 9.

Darcy should have sleeping, not drinking cocoa on her couch watching the extended cut of Lord of the Rings. 

The first thing she thought of as she started to stretch out across the couch, was the way he'd set her away from him that horrible night with the vomit, like she was the cup of cocoa she'd just put on the coffee table.

She looked at him out of corner of her eye instead. He didn't sprawl like Thor did - there was no chance that they would accidentally touch if he remained so still and Darcy stayed on her side. No stretching. She was pretty sure she was cool with that. 

Then he turned to her, quite seriously, indignant almost, "That's not how it works." He waved at the way Arwen had called the river.

"Said every nerd ever! Oh my god. You're one of us. High five, dude," she stuck her hand up, and he looked at it. "You smack my palm with your palm. It's a thing, how you show someone you're on the same wavelength as them."

"Are you certain?"

"Just do it!"

He hit her hand exceedingly gently, and she smiled, a bit touched by his apparent thoughtfulness. "Not bad. Just maybe a little harder next time. There's supposed to be a noise."

Returning to the movie, she felt like things might work out. Maybe he wouldn't hate it here. Maybe he'd turn out to be exactly what he was putting himself out there as. Someday, she'd know.

"But really, that's not how any of that works."

She turned to look at him, opening her mouth to yell "It's fiction!", but he seemed closer somehow.

Darcy shut her mouth, because it was like she suddenly realized his proximity. The other side of the couch was really only a few dozen or so inches away. She could count his eyelashes. She swallowed. "Uh, the movie, it's not real. Everything, it's." _Right there. So close._ "Fake."

Loki leaned closer, examining her face, "Are you alright? I can leave if you wish to rest."

And now she was blushing, "Great, I'm fine. Good. Stay."

Babbling. She was babbling and blushing and he was close enough that she could breathe him in with every inhalation. The movie continued playing in the background, and this was her favorite part, the simple tranquility of the Rivendell, the creation of the unlikely Fellowship, but he was still looking at her. 

"I lied to Nat," Darcy blurted. 

Loki raised an eyebrow.

"That day in the gym. I lied." And the words just kept coming, no matter that she wanted very much to shut the fuck up.

His voice rumbled octaves lower than she'd heard from him before, "About?"

There was no way she was in love with him. None. But, "I like you."

He smiled widely, the skin at the corners of his eyes crinkling, and she felt a whisper of touch on her forearm. She looked down to see his fingers stroke her skin, "Is that so." Not a question, not really. Just a statement that made her spine shiver.

Darcy's stupid head nodded, as she stared down, completely fascinated by the way his hand was so elegant and how long his fingers were. "Darcy Lewis," Loki said, and she looked back up at him, ready for the hammer to come down. Prepared for the crash and burn of dismissal.

But it didn't happen.

All he said was "Thank you," before turning back to the movie.

Her body drooped as soon as he looked away, and she relaxed a little, fixing her attention on the screen and not ( _sure!_ ) how warm the hand he had yet to move was.

He draped a blanket over her before he left, after she fell asleep before Frodo and Sam took off during the orc attack. She dreamed of him again. She didn't remember them in the morning, when she woke groaning and tired and cranky on her couch, but she knew that the entire thing wasn't a really elaborate fantasy by the note on her coffee table.

_Dinner._

_L_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy crap- it's been over a month of posts!  
> Thanks to everyone for just being incredibly supportive and kind. I doubt we'd be here if it wasn't for you all. Seriously, there's just not enough words to express the level of my appreciation.


	22. Oh Just Do it Already

"Wow. Your place is _small_ ," was the very first thing Darcy Lewis said when he invited her inside.

"I happen to agree," he said. She blushed, and perhaps he enjoyed that she was already a little off balance, even if he'd have preferred to have put the pink in her cheeks other ways. "Welcome, Darcy Lewis. Come, sit. Dinner will arrive shortly."

Loki barely had a chance to feel smug before he noticed what she was and wasn't wearing. Her spectacles were gone, her hair was once again loose and thickly lustrous around her shoulders. Her dress was something unfamiliar, something that clung and revealed far more than he was used to. The whole effect distracted him, and he found himself regretting that his plans for the evening began and ended with food.

She huffed a laugh. "It's Darcy. Just Darcy," she said softly as she sat, careful in her provocative garment, revealing the pale skin of her thighs.

"I must say you look -," Loki paused to consider, "ravishing." 

As he sat next to her, he allowed himself a glance at her rather spectacular cleavage. His sofa was much smaller than hers, and he felt huge as he settled against the cushions. She fidgeted next him, nerves on full display in the way she gripped her hands together to keep them still.

Deciding on a neutral topic, "We've almost completed the modifications to Wilson's wings."

Darcy nodded and said, "That's great," but immediately popped back up and crossed to the unused screen mounted above his 'fireplace'. Her hands lifted and fluttered briefly as if she was about to do something to it, but thought better of it. Listless, something he recognized intimately, she wandered to the window he could no longer open and looked out.

In the silence, it occurred to him, "Would you like something to drink? I'm afraid all I have at the moment is water." He got back up, too, already walking over to the kitchen area before she could respond. 

She snuck up on him, grabbed his sleeve, "Look, I feel like this is super awkward, and I just want you to know I know it's my fault. It's not you, though," she snorted, like she'd said something funny, but he couldn't figure out what. "Don't worry, we're cool. I'm still not going to jump you or anything." Darcy Lewis looked up at him, eyes big and blue and unfamiliar without her customary eyewear.

"You're not?" he asked, as he returned to the task of locating glasses and filling them. "Pity."

When he turned back to hand over the full glass, her head was tilted to the side as if she was considering something. "What do you mean by that?"

Loki tried not to read too much into that question, "I suppose that I mean that in the current circumstances I wouldn't object."

"You wouldn't object," she repeated quietly. "Why?" She had rather lovely eyes in addition to that figure he'd been trying to glimpse under her awful clothing for months now. Her outfit tonight wasn't awful at all. 

"I think you know," he replied equally soft, letting his fingers slip across hers as she took the glass from him. _She must feel it_. That shock of sensation whenever they touched.

"This is a terrible idea," but she almost smiled and his heart thundered in his chest.

"Truly awful," he agreed, but she set the water on the counter and stepped in close.

"We shouldn't," she said, but she reached up to touch his face.

"Would you stop me if we did?" he asked, closing his eyes as she ran her hand down the side of his face. It had been forever since anyone had touched him as intimately, as gently.

Her hand continued down, stopping to curl around his neck, pulling his face closer to her level. "Would you stop me if I do this again?" Her lips almost touched his, "Because I don't think I can handle the rejection again."

Loki let the moment hang, trying to ascertain whether she would regret it later. At least she had all her faculties at the moment, so there was nothing else to blame it on.

Darcy Lewis - just Darcy -  _liked_ him. She'd said so.

He snagged a hand in her curls, and kissed her before she could change her mind. Pressing forward, he only stopped when she was wedged between him and the counter.

A thousand years old, for all intents and purposes immortal, and this human undid him.

A kiss.

Her lips, full and sweet and soft as a dream, against his and he was lost. 

She sighed, and he didn't want to let go, but she pushed him back slightly.

"Are you Ok? Tell me what you need. Tell me," she whispered as she plucked the button at his neck.

Her eyes were bright. He'd been so bored, so lost, so far away from fine, and here she was, asking him the one question no else had for so long. No, he wasn't " _Ok_ ". Not with her around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going leave this here for you guys ;)   
> Don't worry, though, they're not done.


	23. For the Love of All That's Holy

Darcy had to hand it to Loki.

He could kiss like no one's business.

She didn't even mind that he'd backed her into the counter, that he'd trapped her there. That his hands were tangled in her hair, holding her still. Darcy felt surrounded by him, enveloped in his scent and his warmth. 

How had they gotten here?

Sure, she'd put on the dress that Nat had lent her, the one that she had no hope of ever affording without winning the lottery. Maybe she'd put on her contacts, and a little makeup. Darcy hadn't been on a date, not in ages, and any hopes she'd had about Ian had long since died quietly, without a whimper of hurt. 

She hadn't planned this, though. This kiss.

Where the previous two times were interrupted, this one could conceivably have gone on forever. She wouldn't have minded, but he was breathing so heavily, practically vibrating with some tension, she let the kiss end with a sigh. She looked at him, really looked - the lines on his face, the way his eyes were hooded and dark. The way his mouth was pinched at the edges, and the way the tendons in his shoulders and neck were so noticeable.

It would be easier to look away, to close her eyes and pretend this was just for fun. 

Darcy held his gaze, took a breath, "Are you Ok? Tell me what you need. Tell me."

Loki shuddered delicately, and it seemed entirely involuntary, so genuine that it charmed her, despite herself. He leaned forward slightly, rested his forehead against hers for a second or two before he stepped away, disentangling his hand from her hair smoothly.

His transition from eager to distant was like a slap in the face, a glass of cold water poured all over her, a profound little moment of pure hurt and recriminations. He turned around and walked away slowly, walking over to the door and opening it. Her head was reeling like when Nat had popped her in the face during her ill-advised attempt to learn to how fight.

The really fucked up thing? Even though he'd just Kali Ma'd her, she'd half expected it. _Stiff upper lip, keep it together, you're cool, super cool. Ice cold. God of Mischief? Ha! God of Fuckery._ Head held high, she stalked over to the door, surprised when she saw Loki turning around with a large brown paper bag, obviously a food delivery bag with a menu clipped to the top. 

He smiled... And she immediately felt like shit for jumping to conclusions, but also elated for that same reason.

"Excuse me, I heard dinner being dropped off. It comes highly recommended." His hair wasn't perfect anymore. And she'd done that.

They were going to eat, and she was gonna keep it together, and not freak out anymore, and be charming and fucking delightful. 

She watched him set the bag down on the counter, and start taking plates out of the cabinet and silverware out of a drawer.

"Great, I'm starving," she smiled, and helped him set the table.

Dinner turned out to be a mostly silent affair, but the food was really excellent, at least. There was a giant honking piece of roast beef, and vat of garlic mashed potatoes and trough of sauteed spinach. None of which were actually things she ever would have eaten on a date for a myriad of reasons, after dinner presentability chief among them. "So," she said, after discreetly trying to make sure that there wasn't anything stuck in her teeth, "who recommended the restaurant?"

"Captain Rogers mentioned he enjoyed this special family meal, that it would be appropriate to share," Loki said after he finished the last of the potatoes, and Darcy filed that piece of information away for later.

He had the most impeccable table manners she'd ever seen, it was hard to imagine that he'd grown up with Thor 'Another!' Odinsson. But he'd also eaten SO much food. It was kinda impressive. 

Darcy watched as he cleared the table, enjoyed the way his movements were so crisp and economical, like he'd done the cleaning up after himself thing a lot. It wasn't something that she would have associated with him, tidying up and doing the dishes.

After sliding her heels off, she padded over to the sink, and bumped her hip against his thigh, creating enough space for her to slide in next to him and dry the wet dishes. Since his kitchen was the baby version of hers, she had a fair idea where stuff went so she slid the dishes up on their shelf. They clattered to rest on their mates when she dropped them after Loki ran a finger down the length of her spine. 

"Sorry," he said, eyes sparkling and not at all apologetic, not with that smirk and heat.

_Oh, he was so going to pay for that._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm. Yeah, I know. I know. I'm going to make it up to you.


	24. Finally

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uh... Smut warning?

Loki had felt a moment of unexpected guilt at the way he'd had to step away after their kiss, but it was for the best really.

He couldn't let his guard down, no matter what breathy words she whispered, words that may or may not have lanced his heart. Distance would only benefit them both. Giving in to unrestrained lust was never beneficial in the long-term. In this case, it could only disturb the delicate balance of his current situation. Smiling, pleased that his logical side had won out over his baser self, he braced himself for her reaction when he turned around with the food.

Oddly enough, none came. She smiled and was pleasant, though she was quieter and ate with less enthusiasm than he was accustomed to from her. Darcy seemed to be looking at him, instead. He didn't think it was the food, which was satisfactory. He found himself eating with far more care than he usually did, fastidiously cleaning his mounded plate under her discreet scrutiny.

Once his physical hunger was sated, Loki had expected that his equilibrium would have righted itself, but it didn't.

As he cleaned up after their meal, she surprised him by joining the effort. He shouldn't have let her muscle her way to stand so close to him, especially since the dress or sweater or however that thing she wore was named, was so tight and lifted so enticingly up her legs as she got on her tip toes to put away his dishes. Loki's fingers trailed up her spine before he'd realized what he was doing.

"Sorry," he said, and even though he could feel the corners of his mouth tilting up, he meant it, because somewhere between pulling away and seeing her bare feet, he'd lost the sight of the completely practical and sound reasons to resist her, and remembered why he'd insisted she come in the first place. Every sane part of him was assuring him that this couldn't end well, but the rest of him just sort of shrugged. He'd not been entirely sane for quite some time, in any case.

Darcy's eyes glinted, and they both seemed to know that dinner was a pathetic excuse, no matter how he'd tried to rationalize it away. She knew that he knew and he knew that she knew, etcetera, etcetera. He wanted her. She _liked_ him. Enough to put up with his foibles, enough to eat at his table, to speak to him, rare enough these days. Enough to kiss him. _Are you Ok?_  

 _I am royalty_ , he reminded himself as Darcy ran her tongue across her lips. She couldn't have known what that did to him. He knew what they felt like now, and his body tightened involuntarily, readying for something he almost didn't dare hope for a repeat of.

Darcy snagged one of his hands, and dragged him over to the sofa. The way her body shifted under her dress, the tantalizing sway of her hips was another distraction. Maybe... maybe. 

 _God of Mischief_ , he thought wildly, as she tugged him to sit down next to her. He could smell her, and the heady scent of her arousal, she was so near and his senses so acutely tuned to this mortal, this woman.

Loki couldn't get a full breath in. In her close proximity, he found suddenly, curiously, that it was impossible to string together a cogent thought in his head. Spiraling away from anything but two exceedingly simple phrases: _I like you. Are you Ok?_ He stubbornly refused to understand why they even mattered enough to run through his mind. Dizzy and almost faint, definitely sluggish, his fingers still tangled up with hers, he couldn't quite make himself act. He wanted to, though.

With something like exasperation, Darcy mumbled "Screw it," and leaned over to kiss him. She let go of his hand to latch on to his shirt, to pull him into a position that allowed her to practically inhale him. His head spun, so he closed his eyes and let her do what she wanted. 

Of course he'd had encounters before - passionate ones with all manner of consenting beings, but he'd refrained since they'd started to bleed into one another, one indistinguishable from the next. Wearying first, then tedious, he'd barely missed it in the intervening years. 

Loki had a feeling that he wouldn't have a problem remembering her, keeping her distinct from the others, not this time. Even if she up and left right now, when they were still clothed and he was still mostly rational, he'd remember this for a very long time. This wasn't pity, it wasn't because he could do something for her, or because he was some sort of trophy. His brain stuttered up against what else it could be, leaving the thought unfinished.

Darcy wasn't unschooled and she didn't hesitate now that she'd apparently decided on her course of action. _I like you_. One of his hands had trailed up her side, up until the soft heat of her skin met his fingertips. Eyes still closed, he reveled in the feel of her, enjoying the contrast of the fabric of her dress against the back of his hands and her skin against his fingertips, as he dipped inside the cowled neckline of her knitted dress.

Loki had known what he was about when he'd left her that note, but the hours intervening had left room for doubts and logic and all manner of sensible reservations. He kept his eyes closed and allowed as many of them as he could dissolve in the fog she was creating in his mind.

Her little gasps as his fingers delved inside her under-thing to find her nipple brought the now into sharper focus. The way his trousers were uncomfortable and his shirt scratched against his skin and her hair was so much silkier than he'd imagined. He wanted it to float around him as she rode him. He wanted to bury his hands in it and tug while he took her from behind.

When had he last been this hard? How had he forgotten this pleasurable rush of pure feeling? How could he have taken this for granted? What had he done to deserve this?

"Take off your shirt," she murmured, practically into his mouth. _Tell me what you need._ His eyes shot open, and he stared blindly at the fake fireplace and blank screen on the matte white wall opposite the couch he was sitting on.

It was a difficult prospect since he was quite happily exploring her chest, and doing that would require him to cease that activity. Still, it was likely the least he could do. Nudity was obviously something that most humans set a certain amount of store in, something that they weren't quite comfortable with. Something they generally reserved for certain places or situations or people, something perhaps a bit valuable.

With reluctance, he abandoned the delights of her flesh, and stripped the shirt off easily. Her response was extremely gratifying - all wide eyes and clenching thighs and sharp, little sighs. Darcy, and the explicit permission to use just her familiar name still thrilled him just a little, reached a hand behind her back, arched in a spectacularly alluring fashion, and shimmied her shoulders. A few seconds later she was pulling a complicated scrap of fabric - with straps and incomprehensible pieces of hardware sewn in - from her sleeve, and her breasts were wonderfully unrestrained under her clingy dress. 

Her eyes never left him, and vanity aside, it was wonderful to have her regarding him so intently, without a shred of distaste, just simple lust. She bit her lip, and grinned at him, eyes fairly sparkling as she looked him in the eye. Leaning forward, not breaking eye contact, Darcy kissed him - a long, lingering exploration that sent his pulse racing faster. Her scent and taste was wholly singular, just like her enthusiasm and abandon.

It wasn't long before she moved on to his neck, but he couldn't find it in himself to regret the change: it still felt wickedly good. Darcy's hand traced the line of the other side, trailing across his clavicle. He'd intended to let her lead, but it was easier said than done. He wanted nothing more than to tear the flimsy material of her dress clean off, to press her down and take everything, to mark the skin he'd find, but he couldn't.

Loki was more than his urges.

 _I like you_.

Loki hadn't always been successful at not doing what his body told him, begged him to do, but he'd never, ever not gotten explicit consent to do as he pleased to a sexual partner. It wasn't noble - it was a point of pride. This time, with Darcy, it wasn't pride. It was something else - something he couldn't seem to properly identify and name.

He felt an inconvenient bubble of amusement form in his chest, because once upon a time his life had been neat and tidy and full of expectations he couldn't ever hope to live up to, no matter how hard he'd tried. Not that he'd known it then. Not then. He'd tried and tried until he couldn't anymore. Right here, right now, he'd never been so happy that his life had imploded.

Darcy had started nibbling his ear, gentle nips and warm breath and he ached. She shifted and with a move he'd not expected, straddled his lap. Her thighs, milky white planes he'd happily spend years exploring, clasped him tightly. There were words he had prepared for just such an eventuality, but they escaped him. He settled for "Please," in the interim. Hoped she knew how seldomly he used it, how highly he regarded her to do so.

Smiling, a knowing look on her face as her legs squeezed and she shifted forward. The dress slid off a shoulder, and when Darcy's head fell back as he brushed the fabric away from her breasts, she ran her fingers through his hair, pulling him forward. Loki obliged without hesitation, finding that the texture of her skin was even more exquisite in his mouth, especially when he rolled her nipple between his tongue and teeth and she squirmed and panted above him. 

She was so warm, so inviting, so _young_. So mortal. He could hurt her, unintentionally, unwittingly, if he was careless. _I like you_.

He almost set her aside - for her own good - but she rocked forward and he was suddenly gasping incoherently, the feel of the friction startling, her breasts luscious as he arched into her, rubbing against her through his trousers, face lifted to the heavens. Distantly, he heard her gasp.

It was almost too late to stop himself, but he clamped down on the tide of pleasure and tried to think of unpleasant things to steady himself. But Darcy wasn't having it, her hips undulating and catching his erection under his clothes, rubbing and stimulating him more than any number of the depravities he'd once craved, needed for release. He might have laughed, but his attention was otherwise occupied.

Loki knew he could have her, but he wanted her to ask for it, needed it. He didn't beg. Never.

He did not want to, was probably a more truthful statement. "Please," he couldn't seem help it, though. "Please," his hands trailed up her thighs, diving under her dress, now more a suggestion of a shirt, than anything truly functional. He found her bare under there, in the shadows between them, found her wet and slippery and he longed to taste her. After being tortured with her scent he couldn't be faulted for dipping into her, and withdrawing to lick his fingers, could he?

Darcy seemed to approve, mewling plaintively, wordlessly for more, but he wouldn't chance his interpretation. He needed her words more than he needed to plunge into her body. Theoretically.

If she kept up that steady retreat and advance with her hips, he might be doomed, though. "Darcy," it slipped out, and he found that he didn't care. "Darcy, Darcy. Please tell me," he realized she'd soaked through the fabric between them, he let his fingers find more liquid gold, sucked them clean as she whined and watched him behind hooded, heavy-lidded eyes. "Please," he forced out, honing in on what he really wanted to hear from her, "Ask me again."

Her face clouded over briefly as she tried to understand, before she brightened and her mouth curved.

"What do you need?" 

He couldn't hold back any more.

 _You_.

She held his head tenderly against her chest as his hips jerked helplessly, seeking the rasping, chafing, freedom in the moist heat between them. He spilled, hot and sticky, embarrassing. Barely cared, though, because it had felt so good, he felt so relaxed now, and Darcy was smirking like a goddess who knew she'd gained a reverent.

She rolled off of him. By some sort of contortion he couldn't follow, her dress suddenly covered her, and he understood the importance, the way humans placed such esteem on nudity when it was so artfully concealed. Darcy pursed her lips, erasing the profoundly smug grin, an expression of exaggerated contemplation, "Do you want to try that without your pants, next time?"

Loki found himself fumbling at the fastening, the zipper closure, ripped the button off, but uncaring in the slightest as he freed his cock from the constricting, wet, increasingly cold confines of his trousers. She laughed, and it wasn't the fashionable tinkle of silver bells that the women of Asgard strived to emulate, it was throaty and sensual, a caress as sure as if she'd touched him.

He decided to go with a phrase he'd learned to appreciate from her, "Fuck yes."

The expression on her face turned predatory and gleeful all at once. "Bedroom," she said, and pushed herself off the sofa to present him a hand. Loki took it and she pulled him to his feet with little effort, led the way to his bedroom with even less. She stopped short, as if she realized what she was doing, who she was doing it with, when she saw his narrow, lumpy, uncomfortable bed.

His voice was rusty, and she deserved her hesitation, but maybe, "Do you still want to?"

Darcy Lewis turned to him, smiled again, and nodded firmly. "Yes." Her eyes burned holes into his, and he struggled not to look away, "Take my dress off."

Hands trembling as he reached for her, he skimmed his fingers up from her knees, rounding up her thighs, the fabric bunching over his wrists as he followed the indent of her waist. She raised her arms and closed her eyes, trusting him. He took advantage, trapping her arms over her head in the dress, pulling her naked body flush against his as he kissed her deeply.

She bit his lip after a few seconds, trying to wriggle free. Tempted, just a little, to keep her trapped - at his mercy, but he released her arms and recaptured her lips, relishing the way her hands fell to tangle in the hair at his neck. The way she maneuvered them to fall into bed thrilled him, the press of their bodies urgent again. He wanted her as much as he'd ever wanted anything.

Loki braced himself above her, wedged between her thighs, wanting the pleasure of her face - if, when - they joined. He had to be sure, even though she dragged herself up and down his cock, wetting him, gasping. "Darcy," her eyelids fluttered, and it seemed like a struggle for her to focus on him. He waited until he was sure that she was looking at him, "Do you still want this?"

"I'm going to hurt you, swear to god, if you don't stop asking me that."

"Which one?" he asked before he could stop his mouth, and her eyes widened momentarily, before her lips curled up at the corners.

"Smart ass. Kiss me." She wrapped her legs around him, and he could just slide right in like this, if he breathed the wrong way or her hips shifted just a fraction. He wanted that. Desperately. But he didn't, not yet. She slid across him again and he didn't bother to try to stop the shudder.

Dipping to press his lips to hers, he luxuriated, he basked, he positively wallowed in the sensations of her. He delved into her mouth like he wouldn't between her legs - not yet - to find that she was more devious than he'd anticipated, gently sucking his tongue, her hands pushing him up, creating space he didn't really want between their bodies. He shouldn't have worried, she insinuated a hand around him, a firm grip that shot sparks behind his eyes as she stroked slowly up and down, lubricated with her own juices.

For a fleeting, ridiculous moment he wasn't able to do anything but groan incoherently as he strained for some semblance of control. It was a pointless effort, completely futile, when she rubbed his swollen, aching head across her slick entrance, bumping and brushing it deliberately against her clit.

Like the snap of a vertebrae falling into place after days of being twisted and painful, he felt the instant he lost the fight to leave that one thing undone. What he'd already gotten should have been enough, but he couldn't stop himself from sliding forward anymore, not when she lifted her hips in welcome and clawed at him, keening like she wasn't able to stop herself. When she was finally silent he was home in a way he'd never expected, pressed inside her as she arched up and somehow drove him deeper. When she said "Yes," it was a sound drawn out from deep in her chest, and a sentiment he whole-heartedly agreed with. "Yes," he whispered back.

She was lovely. 

Tight and clasping, she fit him so perfectly. He looked at her, found her eyes as open as her gasping, beautiful mouth. Wondered idly, briefly what it would feel like around his cock. What she would look like. Darcy moaned as his tempo increased, as his thrusts became less controlled. "Loki," she caught him in a pleading gaze. "Loki," she repeated, sounding desperate, "don't worry. You won't hurt me. Harder. More."

His head fell forward, nestling in the crook of her neck, his exhalations heavy, smothering, as he did as she asked, hips snapping furiously as she held on with her nails dug into his back, glorious in their sting. With a last flash of sanity he pulled out, coming all over her belly and thighs before he collapsed bonelessly.

When he had the wherewithal to peel himself off of her, he noticed his semen hanging like little ornaments in the tidy strip of her pubic hair, smeared wetly across both of their skin.

Loki flopped on the narrow, short, little bed next her, determined that he wouldn't complain about it ever again, not after what had happened on it. It might be his new favorite place - other than...

He reached for a sheet of some sort on the floor. Eventually he'd have to get up to get water to drink and wash her with - if she'd let him, but he just didn't have the energy just then. The sheet would have to do for the worst of it for now. Darcy didn't allow him to pat her completely clean, preferring to do it herself, dropping the unwieldy length of fabric over the side of the bed when she was done.

Rolling over onto her side, she propped her face up on her hand and looked at him. Or somewhere off to his left, maybe. He felt abruptly cold. Her cheeks were red, and she had the appearance of someone embarrassed, chagrined. 

Steeling himself, he wondered if he should push through his exhaustion and leave the room before she revealed her inevitable regrets. No, better to face it head-on. Loki wanted to stroke a finger down her cheek and tell her everything would be alright, that no one would know, but he was paralyzed, even his breath caught in his throat, maybe blocked by those unspoken words.

"Thanks," she said, an unexpected hand curving around his jaw, "I wasn't even thinking about birth control. Next time we'll use condoms." Her eyes widened comically when she realized what she'd said, and the breath he'd been holding whooshed out with a soft chuckle. He mirrored her gesture, hand cupping her precious face, hopeful blue eyes blazing at him. 

"I'd like that. When?" She'd forgive his enthusiasm, he was sure. 

She laughed, a delighted sound. He decided to dedicate significant amounts of his time figuring out what made her make that sound, so he could do it as often as he liked, make her laughter rain around him. "Uh, tomorrow, maybe. If you're not doing anything?" The color on her face crept out towards her ears and down her neck. He had trouble understanding her uncertainty, unless, she wasn't sure she wanted him there?

He refused to get drawn into that well, not when he could be plain. If she wanted to, if she really looked, she'd see it in his eyes, the need he'd developed for her. "I'd like that," he repeated. If he was wrong, it would hurt, but life hurt. It would hurt if he didn't, at this point, "I like you." He left the rest unsaid, being lodestones she couldn't possibly bear up under. They'd sink her to the bottom, and she deserved so much more. Still, he could acknowledge it in his mind if nowhere else.

_I could love you. I might love you._

Darcy's smile was blinding, almost painful to look at, because how could he live up to what it promised? He pulled her close, breathing in the scent they made, and tried not to panic.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. Writers block is a mofo.  
> Normal update schedule resumes tomorrow.


	25. Furthermore

Like a lot of things that she ended up doing, this was probably a bad idea. Darcy grinned, shameless, completely incapable of regret at the moment because _she had gotten lay-aid_. And it had been _good_.

His body was hot and her skin was still sticky, and as nice as it was to be pressed up against him like this, now that she'd gotten her breath back, she really needed a drink. A shower would be excellent, too. With a deep breath, she rolled away from Loki and accidentally _off_ his child sized bed. She popped back up like she'd totally meant to do that, and sauntered into the kitchen with a little extra swing in her step.

"D'ya want a glass of water?" she asked over her shoulder, surprised to see him rising to join her.

Loki padded along behind her, standing close enough that she could feel the heat coming off his body, but not so close that they actually touched as she reached for glasses and flipped the faucet on. 

Darcy filled a glass for him, handed it behind her, filled another while he drank deeply, draining it in practically one gulp. She did the same, uncaring that dribbles of water spilled down her chin. After carefully putting the glass in the sink, she turned when he reached around her for a refill, enjoying the play of muscles under his skin as she closed the space between them.

His eyes were so pretty, so unfamiliar with that warmth in them. His lips quirked into a half-smile as he raised the glass to drink more. 

She could wind her arms around him, could press her face into his chest. She could run a questing hand down and cup him in her hands. He put the glass down behind her, and leaned down to press a light kiss to her forehead, a gentle, unexpected gesture that melted her insides.

Her voice wasn't steady in the least when she asked him if he wanted to shower, it was raspy and scratchy, as it hit her - again - that she'd just had sex with this man - _space viking? Frost giant? God? Alien?_ It didn't matter, really, what he was, she decided. Not as long as he kept looking at her like that.

In his bathroom, a sad little room with really shitty fluorescent lighting, she barely had time to think about what that light was doing to her body, what ripples and dimples it surely highlighted. There was not nearly enough room for one person of Loki's size - slim as he seemed when compared to Thor, he was still pretty big - much less when two people tried to occupy the space. They somehow managed to make it work, passing a bar of soap between them, angling the spray as best they could to wash suds and everything else down the drain.

Much like everything else in his apartment, his towels were terrible, repelling the water instead of absorbing it. Darcy made a mental note to give him a stack of hers, she had more than enough to share as long as she kept up with her laundry.

Finally, they were both clean and hydrated. And still naked. She glanced at the blinking alarm clock on his nightstand, relieved that it was still before midnight and there was possibility of getting more than a few hours of sleep before she had to get up tomorrow. As much as she wanted to go for round two, or three, it seemed like pushing her luck without condoms readily available.

She got up on her tip toes after hanging up that useless rectangle of polyester, kissed him lightly. Slowly.

Head spinning, she looked down to make sure her feet were still there. _Yup_. Smiling, she patted his cheek, "I'm going to head out. Get some sleep," _dream of you_. 

He looked crestfallen, but only for a moment, before his face fell back into his familiar smirking, smug expression. She kissed him again, rather than try to explain with words that it wasn't anything he did, any sort of lack on his part.

His arms wound around her, and if she didn't leave right then, good intentions or not, she'd fall right back into his travesty of a bed, and never get the rest she desperately needed. She pushed him away, chest heaving for breath, as she struggled to recall where Nat's dress had ended up. _Ah, yes, living room._

Loki sighed when she left his bedroom, followed close on her heels as she picked up her discarded bra and shoes. He was grinning like a little boy when she huffed her annoyance at being unable to find the dress.

"Looking for this?" He held a wad of black fabric up, just out of her reach. 

Nodding her head, because she couldn't make words come out, not with that curve of his lips and mischief in his eyes.

"What'll you do for it?"

Two could play that game. She pressed up against him, satisfied at his sharply indrawn breath, and reached out when his hand fell, snatching the dress free, "Ask me tomorrow."

After pulling it on, and kissing him one more time for good measure, she braved the corridor, bra and shoes in hand. It was the opposite of walk of shame, though. More like a walk of game, because after everything, she felt like she was made of win, just a straight up _boss_. Two steps down the hallway, she couldn't stop herself from grinning and strutting, from whipping her hair back and raising her hands in victory, high-fiving a million angels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All the credit in the world goes to Tina Fey as Liz Lemon in 30 Rock:


	26. New Drug

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I Want a New Drug, by Huey Lewis and the News popped up on my 80s channel on Pandora, and I took the liberty of lifting the chapter title from it.

Jane looked at Darcy, who was smiling as if she just couldn't help it. It was creeping Jane right the heck out, if she was honest. 

"What's going on?" Jane finally asked when Darcy laughed after one of the minions accidentally deleted a document Darcy had spent hours collating. The new interns and various and sundry staff either shrugged and cut their eyes away, pretending not to have heard Jane or that they'd noticed anything different.

Looking closer at her friend, Jane noticed the clear eyes and color in Darcy's cheeks. The not-red eyes meant she hadn't smoked anything 'medicinal', and that in and of itself was strange considering the good mood she was in. Jane carefully stole Darcy's coffee cup and sniffed the contents.

Hmm. Alcohol free.

"Out!" Jane shouted, after it dawned on her. She banged the cup down, coffee sloshing over the rim - not that she cared at the moment. "Everyone but Darcy, _go_. Scat. Grab your purses or backpacks and leave now. Take your lunch."

Darcy didn't seem to notice, head bobbing a steady rhythm in the sudden silence that descended in the lab. "Darce," Jane said. "Darcy," she repeated, louder when it became apparent that she wasn't being heard. She finally resorted to "Yo, Lewis!" like a character from a cheesy Godfather knock-off.

Her friend's head snapped up, and she yanked her ear buds out with a goofy grin, "Sup, Boss Lady?" 

Why did Jane feel like she was getting ready to kick a puppy? 

"What's going on? What's," she she waved a hand, encompassing Darcy's body, "all this?" 

Jane had to ask, because maybe she was wrong. She'd had her suspicions, of course, but being confronted with the evidence rattled her deeply. Darcy looked innocent, like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth, "What?"

Jane snorted. She wasn't born yesterday. "Don't give me that. You're all... smiley." Years of education, and she was reduced to ellipses and imprecise adjectives. Cripes. Friendship was a bitch, as Darcy would say.

Darcy pursed her lips, unsuccessfully attempting to erase the grin from her face, "Am not."

Slinging an arm around the best friend she'd ever had, Jane just sighed, "Are too. I am not an idiot, Darce. You've, you and Loki, had sex didn't you?"

"Jane!" Darcy tried to look shocked and appalled, but failed so completely when her lips twitched and the right corner lifted.

"Wanna talk about it?"

Darcy shook her head, patting Jane awkwardly on the back, "Not really."

"Do you have any idea what you're doing?" Jane asked as Darcy backed up a few steps and picked up some papers. They were already neatly stacked and in their proper place, so she just put them back down after a few silent seconds. 

"Not really," Darcy repeated.

"Drinks after work?"

"God yes."

"Fine. Good. He's in the gym. Go bring him a sandwich or something, before Nat crushes his esophagus." Jane watched as Darcy wandered slowly over to the door, "Darce?" She waited until her friend turned back around, "Be careful."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Huge thanks to everyone for giving me such an excellent welcome back.


	27. That Place, That Time

The bar didn't have anything to recommend itself. There were pool tables, but the felt was practically worn off and the cues were crooked. The vodka they served was exceptionally bad, and rumor had it that one shouldn't drink the water. Still, it was far from anything or anyone Tower related, and Nat had a safe house down the street, so it wasn't completely worthless. Natasha always felt safer when she had a rocket launcher within walking distance.

"Is your car going to be safe out there?" Jane asked and wiped the lip of her beer bottle with a napkin she'd pulled out of her purse.

"Probably not, but it's Tony's, so don't worry about it. Besides we're calling a cab after we're done here," Natasha said, watching Darcy weave her way through the throng of people to get to their table.

Jane goggled at her, leaning forward while trying not to actually touch the top of their tiny, filthy table. Smeared as it was with who-knew-what, and with Jane making the mistake of wearing a cream colored sweater, Natasha couldn't say she blamed her. "You _stole_ one of Tony's cars?" Jane whispered loudly.

Nat lifted a shoulder, "We've got an agreement. I test his security. He lets me. Hey Darcy, standard deal on the pool table?"

Darcy's expression was stormy when she flopped down on the empty stool. It creaked so loudly it was audible over the chatter and music of the bar. "Nah, those biker guys are being dicks -,"

"Darcy, carefu-," Natasha started to say, but as she heard the stool splintering and cracking, and her friend started to teeter and tilt, a floppy haired man in a suit and dark glasses caught her deftly. He was playing it off like he'd knocked into Darcy, but Natasha had seen the truth with her own eyes. He'd known what was happening just like she did, but had been able to react just a little faster. Nat put that down to better positioning on his part, and a shot or two too many on her part.

He was of average height, and the suit made it seem like he had an average build, but she could tell by his posture alone the kind of strength and flexibility he carried. He winced a bit behind his ridiculous glasses as he held out his hand in greeting, so he'd been hurt recently. _Interesting_.

"Matt," he said, an adorably boyish grin clearly designed to disarm was on his face, but she couldn't see how far up it went with those glasses in the way. It sort of made her want to lean over and take them off, just to check it out.

Nat shook his hand, resisting the urge to squeeze and test him a little, "Natasha."

His hand felt like a fighters hand. Not a gym boxer, used to heavy and speed bags. _Very interesting._

She accepted his offer to join his friends to play some pool. Darcy and Jane talked intermittently, and Natasha caught Loki's name once or twice in the whispers. She already knew that Darcy and Loki had bumped uglies, but she wasn't especially good at girl talk, so she mostly left Jane to be the voice of reason and focused on Matt. His friends Foggy and Karen were nice, but they were clearly normal, inasmuch as anyone was normal. It was maybe better to say _not in the business_. 

Matt on the other hand, blind, self-depricating, charming, he probably was. Natasha found herself a smidge fascinated despite herself, found that she liked him, the way he talked to his friends. And nearly everyone, it seemed, was a friend.

Darcy checked her phone for the millionth time, and with Jane ruling the pool table, it was up to Nat to do the friend thing. "Go on and text him, you know you want to." Maybe she should have said the opposite? She wondered when Darcy's face scrunched up in distaste if she should have been a bit more vigilant about everyone else's alcohol consumption, as well as her own. Maybe she should maneuver Darcy to the bathroom in case that was a pre-puke face? 

"He doesn't know how to use a cell phone, Nat. Duh."

"What makes you say that?" 

"He's never acknowledged a single text or answered a call even once."

Natasha cocked her head to the side, and tried unsuccessfully not to laugh. _What an ass that guy was_. "I'm pretty sure that he'd figure it out if you were to incentivize him appropriately. Oh hey, look. Our glasses are empty! Be right back."

Natasha was probably the worst friend ever, telling Darcy in not so many words to send Loki a boob pic. 

Darcy was gone when she brought the next round, and Jane was smiling like the cat who ate the canary as a large biker type man, with tattoos and a dingy beard down his chest carefully counted out fives and tens. She gave Natasha an excited thumbs up as the man left, leaving behind a neat stack of green-backs on the edge of the pool table. Jane snatched up the money and wafted it briefly in her face like a fan before stuffing in her bra. 

Jane slung an arm around Natasha's shoulder, and Nat let her, despite her training, fighting the urge to send her friend into the wall. "I've had the best night, Natasha! We should do this again!" Jane grabbed one of the fresh beers. "I love this place!" she yelled and staggered off to do something. Con more money out of unsuspecting victims? Who knew.

Darcy came out of the bathroom, more flushed than the amount of alcohol she'd consumed warranted, walking as fast as she could through the crowd. "We gotta go," she grinned, and it was equal parts excited and nervous. "Or I could leave on my own. No biggie if you guys want to stay a while longer," she gestured to Jane dancing with Matt's friend Foggy. Jane glanced over and saw Darcy and Natasha looking at her and waved. 

She bounced up after ditching Foggy in the space being used as a dance floor, "My ladies. My friends. I love you guys." Her face was bright and her eyes glassy. 

Natasha knew where this was going. Straight down to vomit town. "Yeah, call a cab. We should definitely head out."

"Gee," Jane said as she stumbled into the street after she'd paid their tab, and their new friends tab, out of money pulled from her bra, "The only way this night could have been more exciting, is if we'd seen the Devil of Hell's Kitchen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Watching season 2 of Daredevil - finally! - and I honestly couldn't help myself.


	28. Good Night, Sweet Prince

Darcy hadn't actually meant to go get tanked at a bar. She had intended to have a few drinks, maybe make a few sly dick jokes, and head home before anyone was the worse for wear.

Unfortunately, her intentions counted for shit, because she'd gotten not only herself drunk, but poor, lightweight Jane absolutely hammered, as well. She had a sneaking suspicion that Nat was pretty lit, too, which was both funny and a bit out of character. She was a cute drunk - she got all weirdly Russian, minus the accent. Not that Darcy would ever say something like that out loud. And Jane, bless her genius, math-loving, pool-sharking little heart. Not in the snide way, either, but in the most literal way, because she'd covered the tab and tip, even if she was going to yak pretty soon. Again.

Thankfully, Jane had kept it together until the cab dropped them off at the Tower. Once they were on the street, though, hoo-boy, did that change rather quickly. At least most of it ended up in a trashcan outside.

JARVIS was somewhat snippy, but he got the elevator to their floor in record time once Darcy spelled out what would happen if he lingered too long. She and Nat wrestled Jane into her apartment, made the physicist drink several glasses of water and put her to bed after leaving some aspirin on her nightstand.

Thor would probably have his hands full if he made it back from his heroic adventures tonight. 

Darcy waved to Natasha after unlocking her door, and had barely taken off her shoes when someone knocked on her door. She opened it thinking it was Nat, but had to crane her neck upwards when all she saw was a masculine expanse of chest.

Dear Lord, the man had some height on him. She tried to say something sexy, something loaded with witty innuendo. A breathless " _Tall_ ," was all that came out. _Smooth, Lewis, smooth_.

She'd kick herself in the morning, because right then she was busy being swept into her apartment, as Loki picked her up and kissed her all the way into her living room.

If she'd have known she could have been making him that desperate just by sending him a fuzzy, out of focus picture of her cleavage, she'd have done it a lot sooner, frankly. It was a pain in the ass to play middle man and walk messages from Jane to him when Jarv sometimes to refuse to cooperate. Hopefully the little tweaks she'd made would remain in place, and the programs courtesy setting would remain neutral, rather than null. 

Loki dropped her on the couch, "Hello, Darcy." He was flushed, but apparently _very_ happy to see her. He didn't seem like the type to carry a banana in his pocket.

"Hi," she said as she looked up at him. "You're too far away. Sit," she patted the spot next to her and flung her coat on the floor somewhere.

He obliged her, sitting gracefully. Darcy yawned and lifted his arm to curl into his side, draping it across her shoulders when she was comfortable. He smelled so nice, and, _God_ , she'd missed cuddling up to someone like this. She asked about his day, only half-listening to his words. His voice was a delicious rumble in his chest as he talked about how training had gone. She mumbled responses when it seemed appropriate, not really paying attention, because her eyes were so heavy and she was so warm and comfortable.

Darcy hardly noticed when she was picked up and deposited in her bed, except that his scent wasn't there anymore. She struggled awake, eyes barely slitted open, "Come to bed."

"Are you certain?" 

"Are you always gonna ask that? _Yes_ , I'm sure. Jeez," she grumbled, as she tried and mostly failed to get her sweater up and over her head. "Help," she said, muffled by the chunky knit. Might as well use him, he was there. _Also, holy shit._

She didn't mind his chuckle when he lifted the fabric away, folded it carefully and put it on her dresser. She struggled with her bra, sighing in relief when she was finally free. Her tights and panties came off easily, and since she wasn't at all even close to tidy, she threw them in the general direction of her hamper before she snuggled under the covers. She held her breath and watched as Loki undressed. He hesitated for a few seconds before he pulled off his underwear, and joined her. 

"Sorry I'm not up for anything else right now," Darcy told him quietly.

Loki shifted a bit closer to the middle of the bed, and she did too, until their hands finally brushed against each other. "It's of no consequence. Would you like me to get the lights?"

Darcy grinned suddenly, "I got it." She clapped twice, and her bedroom plunged into darkness.

"Nice trick," came his disembodied voice.

It was easier to wrap herself around him again when she couldn't see him for some reason. "Good night, Loki."

His lips brushed across her forehead, "Good night, Darcy."

"I'm glad you're here," she whispered.

"I am, as well."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure if I'll be able to update tomorrow, but I'll definitely give it my best shot.


	29. Seven Minutes or Less

Loki slept a few hours at a time, at the most, which was why it was such a surprise to wake up to blaring music and daylight creeping in from under heavy, unfamiliar curtains. He'd blame Darcy's enormous and soft bed.

Rolling over when he heard her grousing, he caught sight of dark hair tangled in a wild cloud and pale, smooth skin as she leaned over to press the screen of her phone several times until the music finally stopped.

"Good morning," he said when after the device was finally quiet and she'd tossed it across the room.

She looked at him, eyes bleary, face a thunder cloud. "Please tell me you're not a morning person," she said and flopped backwards, pulling the blankets up and over her face.

"What if I am?" he asked, amused by her obvious reluctance to face the day despite himself. 

She peeked out from the blanket, a pair of eyes rounded in horror all that was visible, "Oh my god. You are." She sounded devastated. Darcy disappeared back into her cocoon, muttering creative obscenities.

With mischief in mind, he got up and opened the curtains, flooding her bedroom with early morning light. It was a lovely day. He suspected birds would be chirping and insects humming and flowers blooming.

Smiling all the while, he tugged on the blankets till she was revealed in all her glory, and she was squealing "Stop. No, I need sleep. Five more minutes. Nooooo!" Darcy put a pillow over her face, when it became apparent that he would not relent, "You're evil. Cruel and heartless." 

"Oh, come now. It's a beautiful day. It can't be all bad," he said and crawled back onto her bed, chucking the pillow over his shoulder. "Promise."

She glanced down and smirked, "It's lucky for you I'm a sucker for a guy with a pretty face and a big dick."

He'd never get used to that mouth of hers. She seemed to revel in the profane and perverse. He quite liked it, and leaned over to show her just how much.

She twisted her face away when she realized what he was about, "No kissing, I've got morning breath." 

He kissed her neck instead,  sucking gently on her skin. She shuddered, and a quick look showed that her nipples were already tightening. He ran a finger around the left one and she gasped, "Tease."

"Indeed," he said, as he paused to blow across her damp skin.

Darcy sighed when he finally touched her right breast, carefully, gently cupping its weight in his palm. "As much as I am enjoying this, I should probably mention that we're working on a schedule."

"Oh?" he slid down to lick the pebbled pink flesh, sending her squirming and reaching for him. 

"Yup," she abruptly rolled on top of him, sitting across his thighs, a blatantly greedy expression on her face. "We've probably got about seven minutes left."

"Is that a challenge?" Loki grinned at her, an unexpected lightness in his chest.

"Not for me," she leaned over, sliding up his legs until he felt her slick wetness slide across his cock, as she whispered in his ear, "I'm positive I can make you call my name long before then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up getting a lunch break today, but OMG it's impossible to write smut when your co-workers are lurking around. (Just writing the word cock made me blush furiously.)


	30. What Kind of Monster Schedules a Meeting on a Friday Afternoon?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going somewhere with this - promise.

Pepper sat with her back to an enormous window that had one of the best views of New York in the city. She'd been waiting to schedule this meeting till tempers had subsided a bit, and she'd convinced Tony that Darcy Lewis had made some legitimate points.

Now, with the diminutive assistant standing in front of her, in her customary state of perpetual dishevelment, Pepper wondered how _this_ person had been able to articulate something so uncomfortable and truthful.

Darcy didn't present herself as anything but a badly dressed, sarcastic nobody, but Pepper had read her high school and college transcripts, as well as the reports on the changes she'd implemented in JARVIS. Changes she made in minutes, without proper security access. Changes that shouldn't have been possible for anyone but Tony to do in any case. Pepper was impressed.

The woman standing in front of her wearing a floppy beanie and frankly hideous sweater was extremely intelligent. Pepper wondered how she'd missed it.

Her application for the position she occupied currently - a formality, sure, since Darcy's employment had been guaranteed - simply said _Good with computers :)_ under the section labeled Relevant Skills. Pepper couldn't help but smile. 

"Please, sit. Would you like coffee or tea?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine. Just, uh, you know, kinda wondering what I'm doing here," Darcy said, fidgeting a little, worrying the hem of her too-long sleeves. There was a grimace on her face Pepper suspected was meant to be a smile, and she felt abruptly sorry for her.

"Sit. I insist. Don't worry, I didn't call you here for anything other than a request for assistance."

Darcy promptly fell into one of the chairs in front of Pepper's desk, "What?"

"I'm offering you a temporary job of sorts. If you're interested. Tony and I will be taking a break for a week or so, and we're wondering if you would be interested in liaising with JARVIS in our absence."

Darcy just sat there, a stunned look on her open-mouthed face. She blinked repeatedly before she leaned closer to the desk, "I'm sorry. Can you repeat that?"

"Do you want to help make sure JARVIS is able to hold down our little fort here for a week while Tony and I go on vacation?" Pepper asked bluntly. "I assure you that you'll be adequately compensated."

Darcy's eyes went from wide to narrow in an instant, "How, exactly, will I be compensated?"

Pepper kept her face neutral, "Well, you'll be receiving a bonus of $5000 for the week, provided that your performance meets expectations."

Pepper could practically hear the cha-ching in Darcy's mind. "And the I can see what can be done as to the matter of Loki's Tower-bound status. Perhaps, if his level of cooperation remains as exemplary as it has been the last few weeks especially, we can revisit the idea of allowing a short release from the Tower. A very short release, mind you."

And that was when Pepper knew she had Darcy right where she wanted her. "Will I still be reporting to Jane?"

"For now. This shouldn't interfere with those duties, but you may be called by Maria at odd hours for assistance, and that would take precedence over your duties for Jane. I ask that you don't make any system changes that affect the day to day operations of the Tower, just that you make sure any scheduled system enhancements don't negatively the status quo. I trust for someone of your capabilities this shouldn't prove difficult."

Darcy stuck out her hand, "You've got yourself a deal, Potts."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had jury duty on Monday, and playing catch up at work yesterday.


	31. A Misuse of Company Resources

"What's shaking, Fart-face?" Sam 'Wings' Wilson, asked as he threw himself into the recliner on the lower level of the Avengers common room.

Darcy let loose a paper plane that almost, but not quite, hit him in the face. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?" she called down to him. 

Sam grinned, and nodded emphatically, "Never." 

"I was trying to be respectful of Grandpa Spangles over there," she said, pointing at the blond who was folding an intricate plane of his own.

"Careful, Fart-face, he's a little sensitive about his advanced age. And Great Grandpa Spangles is probably more accurate, anyway." This time the plane crashed neatly right between Sam's eyes. "What was that for? I wasn't the even the one calling you old."

Steve gave him _the eye_ , a look that generally sent most people running for cover. Sam just gave him the finger.

"So, what's the deal? It's Friday night and y'all are just... what? Flinging stuff off a ledge?"

"Fart-face has been limited to the Tower in Pepper and Tony's absence," Natasha piped up from behind her own stack of paper.

"That's the name you guys are going with? Really? I mean, if anyone is a fart-face, it's Tony," Darcy whined. "It's not fair, you guys, not fair! I was making a stand. Fighting for truth, justice and the American way."

"If you'd been doing any of that, you'd still be my hero," a disembodied voice intoned from the exposed ductwork and rafters of the ceiling.

"Shut it, Barton. I'm not arguing about this with you again."

"And he's been marginally more pleasant lately, so I'll second Darcy's shut it suggestion, Clint," Natasha said as she leaned over the ledge and let her creation fly in a soaring arc across the massive room. 

A thump and the Nat's plane was speared by an arrow and pinned to the wall. 

"Ooh, I'm telling Pepper on you," Darcy laughed.

"There's no need for that, come on. I'll patch it up tomorrow."

Sam looked around the room, at all these strange, delightful people, and was sincerely grateful that his life had changed in the most unexpected of ways.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short, but all I could manage. Super flipping busy at work right now and regular life is throwing up roadblocks right and left. I just want a few hours to write! Ahh!


	32. I Just Called to Say --- WTF, Lewis

The server room was dark. Darcy liked it that way. It was easy on the eyes.

JARVIS was running a rather intense self-diagnostic, maintaining and improving code, so he was quiet. The steady, high-pitched hum of the machines that housed him was a comforting drone, the audible cue that he was well. She kept a weather ear out for it, rather than listening to her music, while she poked around in some of the more restricted processes that made JARVIS Jarv to her.

Darcy couldn't explain exactly why she felt so at ease, almost peaceful as she whizzed through the digital stacks of well-ordered information, but it had almost always been like this when she was fiddling around inside a computers framework. If she'd been able to stand the sexism she'd found in the Information Technology departments at any of the colleges she'd visited back in the day, there was no doubt what she would have preferred to major in. Not that she didn't like Poli Sci, because she did, but her true love had always been computers. Coding just came naturally to her. 

The final patch started processing and the drone became a whine. Darcy cocked her head to the side, evaluating the new pitch and opened a new window to monitor the situation more closely when it didn't _feel_ right.

She'd given up trying to explain how she knew stuff like that, mostly because it wasn't something she could quantify. People just didn't understand that she'd been at a keyboard, fucking around with DOS since she was old enough to break into the computer lab at her elementary school. Which wasn't even counting all the time she'd taken apart her mom's pc just to put it back together.

The lines of code flew past, and it wasn't until she saw the pattern repeat that she figured out what was going on. Tony was awesome with the virtual displays, of course. He'd, if not outright invented them, at very least perfected them. Darcy wasn't as proficient - yet - so she preferred her workstation set up more or less like a group of massive desktop monitors.

She had to admit that reaching out to slow the lines of code with a finger was pretty freaking cool. She tapped a particular sequence and threw it into new window, adjusting a few things. Double checking her work, she created a double of the systems affected and tried her change. It worked perfectly with much less of a drain on the system.

She'd barely married her adjustment to the proper protocol when she was scared shitless by a four foot Tony Stark head popping up right in front of her. "Lewis. What are you doing." It was somehow not a question, and also, pretty startling to suddenly have a giant holographic Tony head eyeing her like she was a mouse and he was some bird of prey. Hopefully her scream of terror could be excused. 

To calm herself she quickly thought of the bird he could be, because hawk was taken, falcon was taken, and an eagle Tony was also definitely not.

"Well."

Also not a question. 

Darcy cleared her throat and consciously unclenched her hands, "Hey, Stark." She lowered the pitch of her voice,"  _Hello, Lewis._ How's Paradise? _Oh, great, you know sun's out, guns out._ Boy, am I glad you're having a good time, so what's up? What can I do for you?"

Tony sighed and tilted his glasses down, looking her directly in the eyes, or somewhere close. It was kinda hard to tell when his eyes were the size of basketballs.

Darcy kept a pleasant smile on her face, "I just fixed something wonky, and was in the process of logging the change when, boom, there you are." Darcy gestured to the screen showing system processes and resource usage.

Stark frowned and looked at something else just to her left. It was disconcerting. Finally, his gaze found hers again and he gave a begrudging - not smile - twitch of lips, a mere suggestion of a grin.

"It doesn't look like you broke anything, so. Bye. Don't forget - I'm always watching," he said severely. Suddenly the view tilted alarmingly; crazy, unreal, blue on blue. Sea the color tropical dreams and hints of a beach and hazy, white curtains. Pepper smiled warmly when the picture righted itself. "Don't listen to him, Darcy. He's just a little pouty that he's not completely indispensable for a very short amount of time. You're doing great! See you in a few days." She turned as if that closed the conversation, without further obligations on Darcy's part. "Tony, I told you to sto-,"

The image blinked out of existence and Darcy took a deep, calming breath before going back to her work.

Tony appeared again, and once more Darcy shrieked like a banshee. "What the fuck, Stark?"

"Don't let Rock of Ages into my server room," he was trying to look intimidating, and succeeding quite well, until she heard Pepper in the background, "Tooony, what did I say about leaving that girl alone?"

He grinned sheepishly, "Sorry, Pep. Bye, Lewis."

Darcy sagged in her chair and counted the hours until the pair of them were home and her duties were over. She'd snuggle up with a bottle of wine and molest a certain someone. God knows she'd had no time to do that since their departure.

Being a responsible adult really sucked sometimes. _Bonus_ , she reminded herself. _Five grand_. What would she spend it on?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I took major liberties with the computer jargon. Forgive me, those of you who know that stuff. 
> 
> Also, I've got a huge project due at work, so I'm not sure how much updating I'll be doing this week, but I'll do my best.


	33. Oh, Happy Day

Loki wasn't happy. He'd been trying to fornicate with Darcy for nigh on a week and had barely managed to get her hideous sweaters off before they were interrupted by "Tower business" of some sort. He'd been celibate for years, decades, (possibly an entire century, not that he'd never admit that out loud), but now that he'd opened the proverbial floodgates, he was a man dying of thirst in the desert and _she_ was his water. Bloody inconvenient, and a little terrifying, if he was honest. 

That was something new he attempting, what Darcy called ' _the whole honesty thing'_. At least, with himself, anyway. And if he'd had more than 5 minutes alone with Darcy, he might have been tempted to try it with _her_. 'S _pitting truth',_ another of her repulsively vile, but descriptive little phrases, was not his natural state of being. 

He loathed to admit that he missed her, but he did. He'd not had any problems getting tea in weeks or getting the not nearly as wretched as suspected ghoul to deliver his messages. While it was convenient, it left little room for excuses to bug her.

He had busied himself throughout the week - there had been a visit from Rogers and Wilson, (which was surprisingly enough, not enough to induce him to violence, and could have even been considered almost pleasant) and so very many books, but he knew that he'd been increasingly snippy as the week wore on.

Today was the day, though. The day he hoped for, longed for. That horrid little metal man had returned with his too-good-for-him paramour, and his new state of normality would hopefully resume. _Please let it resume,_ because he was already so very tired of his hand.

The knock at his door had him patting his hair, making sure it was still in place, looking around his living quarters to ensure its state of general tidiness. He opened the door with a smile on his face.

A smile which promptly fell when he saw that it was Rogers and not the object of his lust or his current obsession or the person that held his momentary interest or  _whatever_. He chose to not define it. "What are _you_ doing here?" Loki asked, as he resisted the urge to lean forward to peer into the hallway.

The blond, who wasn't as wholly awful as he'd originally thought, smiled easily, "We're playing darts in the Den, me and Sam and your brother -,"

"Thor is _not_ my brother," Loki grumbled.

"And we, _I_ thought you might want to join us?" Rogers finished as if Loki hadn't just rudely interrupted him.

His first instinct was naturally to scoff, but he thought better of it. "I'm expecting a visitor, actually," Loki said instead.

"Oh, Darcy decided to go out with Nat. She said she texted you -,"

Loki turned around abruptly and left the Captain standing in the doorway while he dug the little communication device out from its spot. Sure enough,  _I'm heading out to the bar with Nat. Won't be back for a few hours. Can text you when we get home if you want??_

Bugger. How had he missed it? Stupid mortal nonsense technology.

"Uhm? Darts?" Rogers bleated from behind him. 

"Yes, why not? _My plans have been foiled, in any case,_ " he sighed the last bit quietly. 

"Huh?" The blond asked as Loki turned around.

"Nothing. I'll join you presently."

"See you in a few, then." The door clicked shut as Loki stared at the dratted cellphone in his hand. Resisting the urge to throw it into the wall, Loki put it in his pocket and the bottle of wine he had procured with great difficulty back in the refrigerator. He comforted himself by promising that he would make her pay for making him wait, and in what delightful ways he could do that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I thanked you all lately for being great? Because you all are just sincerely delightful. <3


	34. Meanwhile...

Darcy'd had a hard time figuring Natasha out.

There was small, miniscule really, chance that Darcy might be a little obsessed with making sure that her friends were, if not outright happy, then at very least content. Because if they weren't, she had an almost impossible to ignore compulsion to make sure that they were. Her friends, the people she honestly gave a fuck about, were precious to her.

Nat, for all her hard edges and walls (here be dragons), was essentially the same. Once she'd bestowed her affection on someone, there weren't mountains she couldn't move, people she wouldn't threaten to maim beyond all recognition. Maybe threaten was the wrong word, because Darcy was sure that Nat would actually do it, and without batting an eye, if she thought the situation warranted it.

At first she'd thought that Nat and Bruce Banner were together, but after just a few meetings with the little dude she'd realized that he was hung up on someone else entirely. Someone he thought he couldn't be with, which Darcy sympathized with, and felt terrible about. Whatever attraction and possibility there existed between Banner and Nat was quite apparently doomed to fail, and Nat was a smart cookie. She'd know that all too well. 

Then she'd reconsidered Natasha and Clint's relationship. They were so close, so affectionate, that it had seemed like a no-brainer. It was apparently a pretty common mistake. One that no one actually went out of their way to correct, for a reason that was undoubtedly good enough that Darcy really didn't need or want to know. After she'd seen beyond the affection - which was genuine, just platonic - she'd seen that Nat was mostly happy as she was.

It made Darcy a bit jealous that Natasha seemed to be so able to be content just as she was, and could take care of her own needs when she felt like it. She sort of wished for a more laissez faire attitude of her own.

So it wasn't really matchmaking when she'd asked Nat to accompany her to the bar. Or at least, not entirely. Darcy really did need to leave the Tower, because after a week stuck inside, the walls had started to close in on her. And she really did want a word with Matt and Foggy, the lawyers. If she'd noticed Natasha's interest in Matt, throwing them together again, well, that was just a happy coincidence. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had my big presentation today, and it went swimmingly, so yay for me! Unfortunately, it meant less time doing this, but I am hoping to get some time to work on the 'what happens when Darcy gets home bit' this weekend, so, you know, gird those loins.


	35. ...At the Bar

He smelled her from across the room, through a cacophony of scents that included, but was by no means limited to, the sweaty construction worker who had a liver problem, the pine cleaner that was thrown around the restrooms in lieu of a good scrubbing and the co-ed who had been overly liberal with the knock off Chanel no. 5.

She was intriguing and mysterious and drop dead gorgeous. He was honest enough with himself to admit that she was esentially his catnip and his kryptonite. A.E. (After Electra) he'd made himself a promise, though: _No more deadly women_. And there was no question that the lovely, dream-inducing Natasha was very, very dangerous. It was practically written on her skin, a thought, an sense-image he immediately and desperately tried to shut down; his fingers on her flesh, running across the smoothness, the goosebumps, the scars (the ones he just _knew_ she had). He imagined her as a story in Braille written solely for him. If only he could figure out where he knew her from.

"Don't you think, Matt?" Foggy asked, bringing him back to reality.

He'd lost the plot there for a second or two, but it was hopefully a yes or no question, so, "Yeah. Definitely."

Foggy stood up and waved, and Matt cursed the day Foggy had decided that he, Matt, needed to get out more. He really didn't need the possibilities that would become inevitabilities when someone like Natasha was hanging around. It was really simply a question of when, exactly, trouble would find her.

When her friend waved back, he couldn't help thinking of her as the _chesty one,_  and it made him feel jerky, reducing her to her parts. Matt was better than that, or, more realistically, he certainly put forth his best efforts towards that goal. He dug around in his memory and was pleased when he recalled that her name was, in fact, Darcy. She marched through the crowd in a manner not dissimilar from a linebacker, shoulders hunched to protect her drink, as she tugged the obviously reluctant Natasha over to their spot in the corner. 

There was a smile in her voice as _Darcy_ greeted them, but no obvious signs of infatuation he could detect, which Foggy would undoubtedly be devastated by later when he figured it out for himself. She was, however, genuinely pleased to see them both, unlike her companion. Natasha made a few noises that acknowledged his and Foggy's presence, but seemed otherwise completely disinterested in the proceedings, allowing Darcy to keep up the flow of standard opening conversational gambits.

The _Hey, How are you, Glad to see you, etcetera'_ s flowed around him like a comfortable blanket. It was a ritual he had perfected with friends and clients over the years, one that was completely absent during his other nighttime obligations, although he did on occasion ask what they were doing with their lives. It was as close as he got to something a normal person would say to another normal person after he put on the mask.

She was so different from the other night, when she'd been sharp and funny and attentive. It wasn't exactly that she seemed  _forbidding_ , but rather that she was ready for something or someone. She was tense in a way he understood all too well. It was in her shoulders and the way she was scoping out the place. Her attention settled on him, as if she could sense his regard.

He heard her tongue swipe her lower lip, and the amusement in her voice as she said, "It's cool. I'm sure we'll have a fun time," when her friend apologized for dragging her out. Matt was pretty sure that half-grin was aimed at him, as if she knew that he'd still perceive it, regardless of his lack of sight. Of course he ignored his own very good, very sensible resolution and promptly fell face first, straight into lust. 

What was he doing? He couldn't let anything happen, not with this woman - no way. Maybe at a different time in his life, when he's...

"-Matt?" Natasha had obviously just asked him something and he'd been too busy internally monologuing about how unhealthy it was for him to want to fuck her senseless to notice. 

He was a jackass. "I'm sorry," and the funny thing was that he actually was, "what?"

"So how long have you been a boxer, Matt?"

Whoa. Not what he was expecting. Nobody who met him while he was in a suit, wearing the glasses, collapsible cane sticking out of his pocket, had picked up on that, not a single person except ( _Electra_ ).

Fuck. He didn't know her well enough to make a judgement like that. She definitely didn't deserve it.

Either way, it was pointless to deny it, she already figured it out, obviously. Christ, she smelled heavenly, she was muddling things up that were better left safe and sound, locked away deep in his subconscious. Maybe telling her about his dad would be to his benefit. Even the broad strokes were just horrible enough that generally people would spout some platitude or other and change the subject as quickly as humanly possible. _How 'bout dem Yankees?_ was by far top of the list of awkward segues.

It would hopefully distract him too, because what an enormous potential for disaster this woman was. She spoke with her perfect American accent, completely free of the usual regional intonations someone would pick up while growing up. Last time they'd met, there had been something in her body language that spoke of Russia, but it wasn't in evidence tonight. The less he wondered about that, the better. He probably didn't want to know, since she didn't seem the performer type.

But when he opened his mouth to pour out an abbreviated version of the Tragedy of Murdock, he was suddenly very certain of two things: that it wouldn't be treating her fairly, and that he'd regret it.

"I learned it from my dad when I was little," he said instead.

She appraised him, a long silent moment in a loud and rowdy bar, his entire focus narrowed to her. The slow, steady thump of a professional athletes resting pulse. The way the leather of her jacket creaked a bit when she shifted her stance. The warmth that radiated from her.

"You any good with your feet?" Her voice was silk and steel, and he was in so much trouble.

"Yeah, not bad." He shrugged, wondering where the conversation was going, as Darcy and Foggy chattered away dimly in the background.

"Hm." 

"You? How did you get into fighting?" he asked.

"A woman should know how to defend herself," she said, and it wasn't a lie. Not completely.

"Hm," he parroted.

He was wracking his brain for something to say that wasn't completely moronic when he heard, "...kick it in that joint, and it won't give you any trouble at all."

"Hey Matt, Darcy says she can probably fix our copier," Foggy grinned at him, totally and completely head over heels for the woman. Poor guy.

"Oh? You have experience with Xerox's from the late eighties?"

"Yeah, before my boss, you remember Jane? Anyway, before she, uh, got some real funding we were working out of a gas station, and saying that our office equipment was old is insult to other antiques. Besides, I wouldn't exactly call it fixing, more like a percussive adjustment. I can stop by tomorrow, if that's cool?"

There were so many half-truths and things left unsaid, it was giving him a tension head ache trying to keep a bead on it all. He needed to get out, the urge to loose his frustrations on someone deserving was nearly overwhelming. It would be better for everyone if he took off. 

Foggy made the usual protests and assertations that Matt was an old man trapped in a young persons body, and Matt laughed along, unable to do more than agree. Darcy gave him a pat on the arm in goodbye, saying something about how she'd see him soon. 

Matt was surpised when Natasha leaned in close and whispered softly, "Good night, Matt," her breath warm and damp against the shell of his ear. "Stay safe out there." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the main focus is still D/L. But N/M? I mean, I can't help myself. 
> 
> Have a lovely weekend, all!


	36. More Than Just a Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains material which is not safe for work. 
> 
> :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Was supposed to, but wasn't actually able to see Fitz and the Tantrums recently, so I blatantly ripped off one of their lyrics from Out of My League for the chapter title.

"I thought I heard something down here! Hey, guys!" Darcy bounced into the room looking as happy as he'd ever seen her. 

She high-fived Wilson, patted Thor's head, and gave a jaunty wave to Captain _Steve_ as she wandered into the Den. Loki had just stood for his turn with the darts, and he wasn't sure how she'd greet him. 

When Darcy walked straight up to him and looked up at his face, the tightness in his chest eased as she smiled, "Hey, Loki." It wasn't like the grins she gave the rest, this one wasn't just that she was apparently happy to see him, it was knowing and full of promise. She stood close enough that he could smell her. "Looks like you're winning."

"Of course I am," he responded, smiling back down at her.

He itched to reach out, to smooth back her hair and kiss her, but he wouldn't do that with everyone around. He was almost certain that she would not be comfortable with that sort of display. Instead he took aim, pulled up the blindfold, and quickly, one right after the next, threw the darts at the board.

Thor groaned and Wilson booed, enough of a clue that he'd hit his target, and after pulling the fabric from his eyes, verified that he had closed the number he was aiming for without a problem. "I told you lot, this isn't enough of a challenge for my little brother," Thor grumbled, and for once Loki didn't argue the familial connection. He just handed over the darts with the superior air he had quite earned.

"As amusing as this has been, I find myself fatigued. I shall take my leave. Enjoy your night, gentlemen."

"Quitters forfeit and lose!" Wilson called after him.

"In this case, I am absolutely fine with that," Loki responded without even looking behind him. 

Darcy's hand reached out as he walked by her, her fingers snagging his, and with that fragile link between them left the room.

"Bye, guys," she said, not turning around, simply looking at him out of the corner of her eye.

They had barely rounded the corner before she shoved him into the wall and practically attacked him. She kissed him like she was as desperate for him as he was for her, which was rather gratifying. Her fingers found his hair and he couldn't stop himself from picking her up, turning them around and using the wall to hold her in place. She hummed and groaned as their bodies collided in wonderful, breathtaking ways. 

He didn't know why it was so delicious to be with her, how she was so singular and unique that he had no basis for comparison. Loki broke the kiss, practically gasping for breath as he pressed his forehead against hers. He could see the flutter of her heartbeat in the fragile skin of her throat.

"Come on, we should, uh, get indoors," Darcy said faintly.

He chuckled. "We are indoors," but he let her slide down the wall to land on her feet, taking a firmer hold on her hand this time. "Did you have fun?"

"Yeah, sort of. I mean, I needed to get out of the Tower, but mostly I wanted to see these -," she paused in the middle of what she was saying, "this guy that I think Nat likes." Strange. She was lying _and_ telling the truth. Why did that make him even harder?

Loki filed the information away for later, because she squeezed his hand and said, "I'm so glad to be home, though," and there was no hesitation or deception about that. It shouldn't have made him so pleased.

Her apartment was cluttered with clothes discarded on chairs and a variety of shoes and boots and socks abandoned across the floors. In the kitchen, there were dishes and glasses sitting in the sink. Darcy didn't seem to notice the disarray, or care, as she led him to her bedroom after kicking off her shoes.

He found it oddly endearing that she seemed almost shy as she let go of his hand to start stripping away her layers of clothing. She didn't make it stop, though. She didn't turn off or dim the lights. Didn't ask him to look away. So he sat on her bed and watched.

Her top was black and had buttons down the front, each giving way under her fingers, revealing more and more of her pale skin. When the last button was finally dealt with, she undid the fastening of her tight trousers. She slid them down her legs, shirt gaping open to reveal the lace of her breast binding garment. After she stepped out of them, she reached under her shirt, before abruptly stopping. 

"You guys don't have bras. Jane came back, she was wearing this super intricate corset under that awesome dress and armor. Holy cow. Excuse me," she giggled. She sat on the bed, all the more alluring for the inadequate coverings.

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity for me. Here," Darcy guided one of his hands around to her back, under her shirt. "There's two hook and eye closures in the middle. You just sort of pinch it in the right way and it'll pop open. Feel the closures? Oh, on the first try, too," she grinned up at him as the fabric of her bra sagged and drooped.

He pushed the shirt off her shoulders, along with the straps of the bar. They'd dug into her skin, leaving red divots where straps met flesh. He pressed his lips there, over and over, switching sides. Darcy seemed to melt in his arms.

"I should probably mention that I am on birth control, so you know, we're safe if you want to, uh. Finish inside me," she looked at him through her lashes, a faint quirk of her lips accompanying that provocative statement. "Aren't you going to take off your clothes?" she sighed as he rubbed the rigid muscles in her shoulders.

He kissed her mouth quickly and got up, shedding his clothes. Taking a page from her book, he left them where they landed and crawled back into her bed.

Her lovely eyes were wide as he pushed her legs open and settled himself between them. He stared into them as he pressed his lips against the fragrant flesh he found. Licking and laving her, he never broke eye contact as she hummed her approval and trembled when he found the hard nub of her clit. As he added a finger, she grabbed for his hair, calling his name, begging him not to stop. As he no intention of doing that anytime soon, he simply kept at it until she was begging for the release he wasn't yet ready to give her.

It was a power not unlike magic to keep someone on the brink, and it filled him as much as the other sensations of her did. Her taste in his mouth, her scent in his nose, the warmth of her on his skin. Her voice begging for him, for more, promising to do anything at all if he would just... He wouldn't have minded staying right where he was forever.

Adding a second finger, slowly gently, had her hips bucking under him, her back bowing gracefully off the mattress as she came. Loki encouraged her, fingers plunging in and out as he suckled her, juices running down his chin.

When she stopped writhing, he withdrew his digits carefully, licking one final time - a broad sweep of his tongue that made her shudder under him. Satisfied with his preliminary efforts, as any idiot could see she was practically boneless, he crawled up her body. He dropped a light kiss on her lips as he positioned himself between her legs, draping one across his elbow. 

Darcy's eyes snapped open as he slid inside of her, her hands scrabbling for purchase on his back as he inched forward. He leaned his forehead against hers, saturated with her. When he finally moved, it was a slow undulating rhythm that Darcy seemed to match easily, a perfect counterpoint to his movements.

There was a long moment where time seemed to slow and stop. Where it was him and her and the passion that they built between them. He cried out and came abruptly, calling her name as he reared up and crashed into her again and again. 

Loki collapsed at her side, mourning the loss of her heat around him already as he stared at her, breathing heavily next to him. She turned her head, a radiant smile on her face as she looked at him, "We're really good at that. Like awesome. We should get a prize, a trophy maybe."

He laughed, "I'd settle for a drink at this point."

"I can do that, you know, in a second or two," she reached out and smoothed his hair back. "I missed you last week," she added, and rolled away, getting to her feet. As she wandered through her bedroom, she paused to pick up a towel from her hamper. She threw it at him, "Don't worry, it's clean, I just haven't gotten around to putting it away, or cleaning in general, as I'm sure your royal tidiness has observed. It's been a heck of a week."

He made a sound of agreement, and wiped up a bit while he waited for her return. Darcy wasn't long, and when she appeared in the doorway, his breath caught in his throat as he admired her form. Her breasts swayed as she walked towards him, her hips swung in that unconsciously alluring way that she moved. 

As she handed him the glass, she was graceful as any being he had encountered. He drank deeply, encouraged when she sat next to him, eating segments of a small orange, instead of diving under the sheets to get ready to sleep. 

Loki put the empty glass on the table, turning his back to her, forgetting, completely, his tattoos. "Oh, those are pretty. They look like runes, but I don't recognize any of the symbols. What do they mean?" she asked and stroked a finger up his spine before he could turn around.

Catching her finger in his hand, he brought it to his mouth and sucked it in. The way she gasped and gaped at him was intensely satisfying. He didn't want to change anything, didn't want to derail the progress of whatever it was that they were creating. He should lie. It came so easily to him, she'd never suspect a thing. Just a few words. Simple.

He released her finger, opened his mouth to speak, and found he couldn't quite get the words out. Not with her looking at him in that manner, reminding him, _I like you_.

He ended up kissing her instead, tasting the citrus tang of the recently swallowed fruit, as well as the essence of her that he'd left on her lips. Perhaps the best course of action was to distract her, and hope that would be enough while he tried to come up with a way to describe one of the parting gifts Odin had given him immediately before his banishment from Asgard.

After he broke their kiss, he turned her around, pulling her to her knees, holding her there with the hands that found her breasts. Loki strummed her nipples with his fingers, pressing her flush against his front. He spread her legs with a knee sweep. Without the use of his hands, he spent an enjoyable amount of time trying to position himself for penetration, his cock rubbing and sliding across her slick labia. It was fantastically good, but it was nothing compared to the swell of sensations when he slipped inside of her.

Darcy gave a strangled scream as he nibbled on her neck, her inner walls twitching around him. He rode her through that climax, intent on causing her at least one more orgasm before he would allow himself to come.

Loki never would have guessed that he'd ever be so happy to be an exile when he'd been flung from his home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope this makes up for some of the short chapters and days I missed.
> 
> Enjoy your Sunday!


	37. Retainer

Darcy knocked on the door with Murdock and Wilson painted on the glass, unsure of the proper protocol. Should she have just barged in? That seemed rude. "Come on in," Karen said pleasantly from the other side, solving her little dilemma.

"Hey, Karen," she said as she slipped inside.

"Darcy! How are you? And what are you doing here?" Karen stood and came out from behind the beat up, particle board desk to give her a brief hug.

"I saw Matt and Foggy at the bar last night, and they mentioned that you're having problems with your copier. I'm pretty good with stuff like that, so... here I am. Hey, Foggy!" She gave a little wave, "So where's the ancient monster giving you all this trouble?"

"I got this Karen. Through here," he said and swept open a door that was cramped with a variety of elderly office technology.

Darcy followed Foggy in the room, looking through purse for the small bag of her tools, taking a few things out to make the search a little easier. First her keys, then her phone and wallet, followed by her taser. Foggy coughed uncomfortably.

"Uh, that's fairly illegal in the great state of New York."

Darcy kept looking through the mess in her purse, until she finally pulled out the little purple makeup case she kept her small set of mini tools in. She smiled at Foggy, "Good thing I know a couple of lawyers then, isn't it? And you guys have a pretty good record, too."

"Yeah, we're not bad. Wait, you researched us? You need a lawyer?" Foggy gave her a slightly confused look.

Her instincts were pretty spot on, most of the time, and they were telling her that she could trust this man. "Ok, truth time. Yes, I think I do actually need a lawyer, or, I can't talk to anyone about it but my lawyer. I can pay you, though. I'm pretty sure it's not going to be enough, but," she felt around in her purse till she found it, "here. $5,000. Cash. Feel free to count it. I won't be offended."

She held out a thick, yellow envelope, crinkled and old, almost soft with repeated use, closed with a pair of rubber bands.

Foggy put the money on the counter and leaned against it, giving her a shrewd look. "Do you want to tell me why you need a lawyer? Something to do with how you got that money, maybe?" 

Darcy rolled her eyes at the implication that she'd stolen the money, but at the same time, she'd gotten the money from Stark Industries, and they were very much involved. "No, or yes? Sort of. I'm not sure. I'll tell you as much as I can if I'm protected by Attorney/Client privileges."

Foggy looked at her consideringly, chewing his lip.

Impatiently, Darcy asked a tad more sarcastically then she'd intended, "Have I satisfied the requirements of hiring you guys?"

"$5,000? That's a lot of money, for some people." 

Darcy huffed a disbelieving laugh, "You'll think differently after I explain even a fraction of the situation. I should probably fix the copier first, though. Before I get distracted. Is Matt in the office?"

"Yes, but he's busy with this other case. Do you think I should get him?" Foggy hovered behind her as she pulled the recalcitrant front cover off the copier.

"Yeah. You should probably both be here, so I don't have to explain it a bunch of times," Darcy answered, but didn't look up from the guts of the machine. She barely noticed that he'd left the room.

A few minutes later the Xerox was humming, well, clunking along at as brisk a pace as it could manage, spitting out cleanish copies of a flyer for the services of the Law Offices of Murdock & Wilson. 

She turned around to face the two men, gaping at the newly repaired antique. She patted it proudly as it went still after the 25th copy settled gently in the tray. "You know, I can probably set up a website for you guys. If you want to join the 21 century?"

Foggy and Matt both shook their heads dumbly as they stared at quiet Xerox machine.

It was Matt who spoke up first, "I can't believe you did that. That's pretty impressive."

Karen joined them in the tiny room, openly gaping at the evidence of the functioning copier. "Well, I never. Nicely done, Darcy." She stood there smiling as Darcy gathered her stuff and shoved it all, except her phone, into her purse.

"So, what's up?" Foggy asked as a cloying silence stretched into long seconds in the small room.

The moment of truth was wicked uncomfortable, come to find out. "Ok, so I'm kinda dating an illegal alien." Being flippant was second nature, as good a set of armor as she could manage.

Matt and Foggy shared some sort of - not look, but some sort of shrug. It was Foggy who said, "Oh well, that's not so bad, we take care of that sort of thing all the time. We can handle that in a jif." He sounded ridiculously relieved. If only it was that simple.

"No. You don't understand. I mean he's literally an alien," Darcy tried to infuse as much sincerity as she could in her voice.

"Do you mean a mutant?" Matt asked curiously.

"No, if it was just that I wouldn't be here. The guy who, uh, tried to take over New York? Yeah, he's my boyfriend." 

"Huh," Foggy said, and leaned back on his hands, a crestfallen look on his face.

"That's -," Matt said, voice trailing off as he rubbed the back of neck, an awkward grimace that probably was supposed to be a smile of some sort.

"That's bad," Foggy elaborated. 

Matt nodded in agreement, pointing towards his friend for emphasis. _He's right_ the gesture said clearly, "Not good."

"Not what I was expecting," Karen chimed in, a sympathetic tone in her voice, glancing at her bosses severely.

"Why?" Foggy asked, head cocked to the side, as if he was trying to fit this new information into his mental image of her.

Karen shushed him. 

" _How_?" Matt said, pitching his voice over the others.

Darcy had a new appreciation for what people had to put up with when she and Jane got started. Still, she was somewhat defensive when she answered, "It's kind of a long story. Any way I can get some coffee? A cookie maybe? No? Fine. So, about five, no six years ago Jane and I, we were out in the New Mexican desert..."


	38. Nuts

Darcy Lewis, his latest crush, having just crushed him, had just stepped out of the room to freshen up after talking for a good hour. Here Foggy'd always thought Matt was unquestionably the one in their duo with the worst taste in women, but maybe it had been him all along.

"She's not lying, is she?" Foggy sighed, hoping against hope that it would turn out to be that easy.

Matt shook his head.

"And she's not crazy, either?" Foggy rubbed his eyebrows, not wishing insanity on her. Not really.

"No more than you or me, bud." Matt looked more intrigued than scared, which was par for the course. 

"You're totally on board with this, then." Foggy wanted to rip his own hair out, because this was another in a long line of really poor business and financial decisions. _Best friends and partners_ , he remembered thinking before they passed the Bar exam, _what could possibly go wrong?_  

Ha.

"Aren't you?"

Foggy opened his mouth to say, "Hell no," but Darcy entered the room. 

She was looking down at her phone, and fiddled around with it more than it seemed to warrant. She handed it to Foggy, telling him to just look at the pictures, and if he wasn't convinced that something else was at play when she'd given them the rest of her research, she would leave and they could keep the cash.

Foggy took the phone, studying the photos carefully, before he finally spoke. "The pictures show a pale, sweaty man, looks sort of like he needs a hit. He didn't look like that in the footage from Germany. I'm pretty sure I'd recall if that guy had looked like a junkie, but all I remember is that he had on a really nice outfit. A Prada overcoat and suit that that twat Owen My-Family-Came-Over-On-The-Mayflower ended up buying. Hmm." Foggy brought the screen closer to his face as he adjusted the magnification.

"What?" Matt asked, clearly understanding that Foggy had seen something in the pictures.

"Are his eyes different colors in these? From New York to now?"

Darcy nodded. "You can check that same footage from Germany on YouTube if you want. It's not Photoshop or creative filter stuff. I know it's not evidence, but I believe he was coerced. Other people who'd been recruited to his side showed the same sort of symptoms."

She paused, because she knew how flimsy it sounded, so she pulled out a sheaf of papers she'd carefully compiled over the course of the last few weeks. She gave them to Foggy in exchange for her phone.

"Most of this was in that mass of files that were leaked a year or so ago, but the data is applicable. Also, I've included files on dozens of war criminals that were given asylum in exchange for research. 

I'd also like you to keep in mind that he was instrumental in saving not just earth, not just our galaxy, but the universe. I mean, I did my part," Darcy smiled, " but he did so knowing that he would probably not be welcomed home again. And he's not. He's been banished here. He's working here, for my employer, and he's been doing a lot of good. But he's locked away, he's not compensated, he's got no rights or resources, he's not had a trial. He's innocent until proven guilty right?"

Matt nodded, and Foggy knew that look. It was his _tilting at windmills_ look, and goddamnit, life had just started getting less complicated.

"Anyway," Darcy continued, "these are the precedents I think apply to his situation, but I can't go any further."

"How did you figure all this out?" Foggy asked as he sifted through the files.

"I was thinking about becoming a lawyer," Darcy shrugged.

"Oh, yeah?" Matt asked, curious.

"Yeah, I took my LSATs, but all this stuff kinda got in my way and I never graduated from college."

"Wait, what did you score?" Foggy asked, looking up from the mass of papers.

"178."

Foggy whistled. "Better than me."

"And me," Matt added. 

They both sounded a little surprised.

"Well, I'm smart. Not Jane smart, but you know. 3.8 Gpa. So, will you help me?"

Matt smiled, "Only if you keep fixing our copier when it breaks down again."

Shit, Foggy thought. Who knew that befriending beautiful ladies at the bar would end up stirring up so much trouble? Next time he was taking a page from Matt's book and staying the fuck home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I missed yesterday. I forgot my kindle at home. It was awful.
> 
> Also, no clue if the suit Loki wore in the Avengers was actually Prada, but if anyone knows, I'll be happy to credit the real designer.


	39. Bribery

After checking who it was on the screen in her bathroom, Nat allowed JARVIS to open the door for Darcy to enter her apartment. It was habit to be paranoid even with biometric ID. There was a tower of folded laundry in the cloth hamper Darcy was carrying, and if it was fresh from the dryer, that meant warm sweatpants. _Heaven_.

Natasha got out of her bath, wrapped herself in a towel, and darted out to greet her friend. The hamper Darcy was struggling with was a pain in the ass to lug around, of course. Awkwardly shaped and soft, with handles in exactly the wrong place, it was impossible to get a good grip on. Nat kept it around for just such opportunities as this.

"They fresh?" Natasha asked, crossing her fingers.

"Course. What do you take me for? Sweatpants are on top, too, because I know you always change into them when they're warm," Darcy smiled, and pulled out a bag of donuts from under the sweatpants. "And I got us something, too."

"You're an angel," Natasha breathed as she pulled on the deliciously warm sweatpants and a random tank from the stack of clothes. Something about Darcy's expression was off, though. "What did you do?"

"Me?"

"You. You did something. What? Don't play coy with me." _You know I hate not knowing everything_ was left unsaid, but definitely communicated.

Darcy held out the bag of donuts, "Have one, and I'll tell you."

Grumbling Natasha opened to find a pair of donuts, both classics, a chocolate donut with a simple glaze, and a vanilla donut covered in chocolate ganache. Yeah, something was definitely up, but Natasha barely cared as she snagged the chocolate glazed.

She'd just taken a bite when Darcy spoke up, "I hired Matt and Foggy to represent Loki."

She coughed up dark brown crumbs, before she blurted, "Darce!" and stared at the brunette. Shook her head, "No. You didn't?"

"Yup. I sure did. And I'm going to ask another favor. Talk to Matt, tell him about Erik. How Loki looked and acted in the helicarrier. Come on, don't give me that look. Laundry for a year? I finally got all your finicky folding rules memorized and figured out how to get blood out of body armor and everything. 52 weeks of no laundry..."

"No. You don't get to bribe me with chores. Or donuts," she said as Darcy held up the bag and shook it invitingly. "I can't believe you. You went to a couple of guys you met a bar a few times, and told them we're harboring a fucking super villain in our skyscraper, and want them to do what? You have to know this isn't going to end well."

"Nat, I'm an expert in _isn't going to end well_ , but sometimes you've got to take a chance. Armin Zola didn't end well, but you did. Agent Ward didn't end well, but I think, I _hope_ that Bucky will. Is it terrible to want that for Loki, too?

You ever ask how he got that shiny disco stick?"

"Of course."

"He ever answer?"

"Not seriously."

"Why do you think that is? What do you think ensures that careful deflection?"

Natasha sighed heavily, and swept her sweatpants off in one fell swoop, "I just put these babies on, too. Goddamnit Darcy."

"Wait, where are you going?" Darcy asked as Natasha pulled on a pair of carbon fiber reinforced jeans from the basket and put on the black hoody and running shoes that she'd abandoned on the floor before her bath.

"I'm going to talk to Matt. Please refrain from, I don't know...  _Everything_ until I get home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy weekend, everyone!
> 
> I wrote the next bit here if you want:
> 
> [Nat visits Matt](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7050736/chapters/16031716)


	40. I Didn't Do It For The Lulz, Dude

Darcy couldn't believe that they were actually arguing about this.

Now that he'd stopped yelling, Loki was pacing the perimeter of her living room, and was muttering under his breath. "I don't need your help, mortal," he spits, after coming to an abrupt halt in front of the fireplace.

"I know what I am, but what are you?" Darcy replies, because Loki's super power is apparently the ability to turn her into a five-year old. Next thing, she'll be saying _I'm rubber, and you're glue_...

He gives her the withering glance that she's sure intimidates other people - the ones who don't know he picks the peas out of his Shepard's Pie and likes his tea sweet and black, or aren't intimately familiar with the many ways one could make him hiss in pleasure.

She rolls her eyes at him, even though he's turned to look at the collection of miniature tin landmarks she keeps on the shelf there, Big Ben and the Leaning Tower of Pisa and a dozen others crowded together. He looks like he wants to pick up the Eiffel Tower and throw it out the window she's opened slightly for fresh air. 

Darcy reaches deep for patience, and controls the urges to stomp her foot and raise her voice, "I didn't do it for the lulz, dude." Her hand reaches out and she almost touches his shoulder. 

Loki spins abruptly, face a mask she hasn't seen him wear with her for so long she'd almost forgotten how freezing it could be. "You didn't do it for the _lulz_? _Dude_? Am I supposed to extract some meaning from that?"

She rubs between her eyes, "Lulz, from LOL, the internet shorthand for Laugh Out Loud. Definition: Laughs. Giggles, as in _Shits and_. Dude. Do I really need to explain that one? You've only been around me for months. I've used it a thousand times in your presence. Dude. Person I am referencing. In this case, _you_."

He stalks off with a sniff, resuming the circuit around the room.

"I'm not even doing it for you, dickweed. At least not entirely." Loki stops, glares at her from across the room with enough coldness that she flinches. "It's the principle of the matter. I'm assuming you're familiar with the concept of principles, even if you don't actually have any?" she asks, chin tilting up.

The air is sucked out of the room. It's a low blow. She knows this, but she doesn't know how to stop. They argue until her eyes ache behind her glasses, heavy with the tears she will not let fall. She wants to shout _I believe in you_ and _Tell me what you're afraid of_ , but she can't articulate those things.

Not when he looks at her like she's an ant he can crush under his boot. 

Not when he slams the door behind him, and takes her certainty that she was doing the right thing along with him.

 _Maybe_ , she thinks when her apartment is quiet and empty, maybe she was wrong, maybe she should leave well enough alone. Maybe he does deserve to rot here, in limbo. Maybe she's imagining that he trembles sometimes when he sleeps next to her, breathing heavily and sweating. Maybe she's imagining that he's worth the second chance she wants to give him. 

When he looks through her the next day, she wonders why she bothered imagining in the first place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so hard to write. Gah!


	41. How, When, What, Why

How he came to be sitting on the Captain's veranda wasn't a mystery. Loki had simply knocked on his door. It wasn't even a question of why he had chosen to come - that was simple, too. He'd wanted a drink, a proper drink, the honey sweet oblivion of a good mead drunk. He won't get it, not with how little remains, but he could, perhaps, get a buzz - a concept that Darcy had explained once upon a time. He remembers her overly crisp enunciation, the way at her mouth shaped the words almost as much as the words themselves. _Not drunk, I've got a buzz, like a softening of the edges._  Not drunk, then. 

Steve - and it still feels awkward to even think of the man as Steve, much less address him as such - wasn't the pretty simpleton Loki had assumed him to be. Nor was he entirely the paragon of virtue and light he'd been made out to be. He was just as flawed, just as odd as any of them apparently were. _Steve_ had let him in without a remark, just stepped back from the door. What had he seen in Loki's face? What had prompted that look of sympathy, of commiseration?

The man understands quiet, though, understands somethings have to be left unsaid sometimes.

So they're silent as they sip potent, familiar liquor. 

The sun dips low behind the forest of buildings, bruising the sky in its absence. Days after their argument, his insides finally start to untwist, anger and pride limping away to lick their wounds in the peace he carves out of denial.

He'd done nothing wrong. 

 _She was wrong_.

"Huh?"

"She's wrong," Loki repeats. If he could convince the Captain, maybe he'd convince himself.

The laugh startles Loki. "You're how old?" Steve asks, mirth and something else lacing his voice. Incredulity, perhaps.

Loki mutters a number.

"Old enough to know better, then," is the unsatisfying answer.

"But she is," Loki insists. "I do, I have... principles."

Steve nods, but it is not agreement, not precisely, "Do you know what they are?" It's not said with anything but curiosity, but it doesn't make it any less patronizing. Loki wants to be upset, to be offended, but the feelings won't stay grounded, whisping off into the ether instead.

He's been trying not to lie to himself anymore. And if he truly had principles, he'd be free of this. Free to be free. Free of Odin's parting gift. 

"I don't want her to think I don't," he hedges.

Steve hums in understanding, "Maybe she's doing this so you can figure it out without having to be stuck here. I think she's trying to give you a choice."

"Why?"

Steve laughs, and this is where Loki thinks he'll finally lose all control, but Steve takes him by surprise when he asks, "Why not?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you're on my tumblr, you already know it's been a tough week for me. Depression is kicking my ass like I owe it money, so, to be perfectly honest, I am not in a headspace that allows for the tone I'm aiming for with this fic. I'm not opposed to angsting out here and there, but I don't want the whole fic to evolve into an ANGST fest.  
> Anyway, not looking for sympathy, just wanted to let you know I'm not abandoning this, but updates will be spotty while I wrangle my thoughts into submission.  
> As always, your support has lifted my spirits more than I can possibly explain. Love to all of you- j


	42. In Which These Dolts Refused to Cooperate With the Author

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just want to say thank you. You're wonderful.

It was late when he knocked on her door.

"It's -," JARVIS started to announce.

"Yeah, yeah. I know who it is. I'll be right there," she grumbled, more for Jarv than her unexpected guest. Glancing down, she regretted the words instantly. There were remnants of her gyro pita decorating her boob shelf, and a mug of wine on the table next to the scraped-clean tub of what was once a half pound of delicious hummus. 

With a heavy sigh, she sat up carefully, gently lifting the bottom of her shirt to catch stray crumbs and flyaway bits of lettuce, adding the tub carefully one she was standing. She stopped by the trashcan, dumping the detritus of her meal on her way to her bedroom. His Highness could wait while she pulled on a tee free of tzatziki, half-masticated vegetable matter and grease stains.

Darcy even managed to brush her hair and tie it up before she opened her door.

Loki stood there in his full-on Loki gear, no attempt at fitting in with the "locals" present in his dress at all. It was strange to see him all _Asgard_ again, a study in black and green, with his hair slicked back and boots shiny.

He inclined his head, "Darcy Lewis."

There was silent, pregnant pause while Darcy sort of gaped in confusion. Hadn't they already dispatched with this formality shit?

Since they apparently had devolved a few steps in the level of their familiarity, she kept the door firmly chained, face set carefully to neutral when she said "Loki."

To his credit, he didn't indicate, by any means, a sense of irritation at her choice to not just let him in. In a perfectly civil, completely polite, measured tone of voice, he asked if she would be so kind as to grant him a few minutes of her time. "Privately," he clarified softly.

Her mind whirled momentarily around a multitude of thoughts and impressions simultaneously. There was the fact that he'd basically ignored her for days like a toddler. The fact that he was emotionally stunted, completely incapable of sharing any significant information about himself. She'd had sex with him and what she knew of him had seemed altogether pathetic in the days since they'd had the argument. A few food preferences, a familiarity with his genitals and she'd suddenly had illusions of intimacy.

She was about to close the door in his face, uninterested in having her heart crushed under his boot heel, yet again, but there was something in his gaze that could almost be called pleading. Almost.

She did, in fact, close the door in his face, but only so she could unlatch the chain. Darcy was probably projecting the relief she thought she saw cross his face when she opened the door back up.

"Come in then, but the boots have to come off. I just did the floors and rugs." Maybe she was still feeling a little malicious, and couldn't help being a tad bit petty. Plus, people always seemed more vulnerable in their sock feet.

"It looks nice in here," he had the audacity to sound surprised. 

She gave a tight smile. She said "Thanks," in the tone she usually reserved for when she was calling someone a  _douche_.

Since she wasn't being civilized, she did not offer him a seat or beverage, pointedly taking a refreshing sip of wine out of her mug after she'd plopped on her couch. 

Loki turned to face her and smiled, clearly having noticed the subtext, _you might have been welcome before, but now you're not_. Hopefully that was what was coming across, because she wasn't being subtle.

_Was he enjoying it?_

_Weirdo._

"You had something to say?" Darcy prompted when his smile faded and he just looked at her. It was unnerving.

He ran a hand through his hair, mussing the perfection of his coif, before he finally spoke, "I apologize."

She waited for him to say something else, but that was apparently it. "For?" she asked, in no way ready to let him off the hook that easily. 

His eyes flickered and his mouth tightened. "For the argument," Loki finally said.

"Wrong," Darcy responded, voice barely above a whisper. 

"What? No. Why?"

"I don't care if you have a different opinion from mine. People, _couples_ argue. We won't always see eye to eye, but you barely let me try to explain, didn't even have the simple courtesy to listen to why this is important to me and wouldn't even start giving me an idea about why you were so vehemently opposed to it. You completely ignored me for days. You made me feel like I didn't matter. _That's_ what you should be apologizing for." It was harder than she'd imagined, forcing those words out. 

Loki winced. There was no other way to describe it; he winced, and looked away. 

"You know - I've told you about me, shown you what I like, shown you _me_ , but you... you've never said anything about yourself. Everything I know about you I've either guessed or heard from someone else." Her volume rose without conscious effort. "I don't even know if you have a middle name or what your last name is, not really. No one is a mononym except Cher or Prince. No one I know, at least," she stopped to breathe, resigned to letting it all hang out.

"I don't want some mythical creature, and I didn't even really consciously acknowledge that until just now, but I think I deserve to know the person I... I have feelings for. The person I'm not just having sex with, but am sleeping with, welcoming into my home, trying to help. I don't even understand why you freaked out.

So unless you're going to even attempt to address any one of those things, I think it's best we forget that we ever fucked." She was really proud that her voice had been so rock steady, that her words weren't rushed, that she hadn't chickened out. 

Fully expecting that he would leave, she was surprised when he didn't run straight for his boots. He was looking at her again, like she was a puzzle. 

Quiet enough that she had to strain to hear, he said, "I have no idea how to do this, Darcy. I don't know how to leave myself open to someone else. I wish I did, now. For the first time.

I wish I could just..." The words trailed off, and Loki ran his hand through his hair again.

His mouth shut with an audible click. He looked almost desperate as he stalked to stand directly in front of her window. With his back to her, he grabbed the sill.

"Loki -," she said, a warning, a reminder to herself of who, what she had in her apartment. 

"I am not my father's son. I am not my mother's son. I am a monster," his shoulders tensed up under his layers of wool and leather and linen. 

Darcy felt something inside her chest squeeze at his words, and pity swiftly followed. Her anger and hurt didn't evaporate, not entirely, but they were outweighed by the painful swell of empathy. She'd never been rejected by her family. They didn't understand her, didn't _get_ her interests and certainly not her attachment to Jane. Not that she could really explain that she'd found a semblance of purpose in her work, and she suspected that if she could, they still wouldn't understand. They'd still be there for her, though. 

"Loki -," she repeated, but he started taking off his beautifully detailed jacket. His vest, or whatever that thing was, was next, and then he started on his shirt. "No, I don't need to see tha-," her voice trailed off, because she could think he was a giant butthole _and_ the most beautiful man she'd ever seen all at the same time.

Her breath caught in her throat as he stripped the final layers with a quickness that was startling. He folded everything efficiently, piling them neatly on the bench he stood next to.

His skin was so pale and smooth over flexing muscles, knobs of backbone and curved ribs, but now that she really looked she noticed the faint grey lines tracing an almost invisible line down his spine. She'd noticed them before, but hadn't even noticed how _odd_ they were.

Darcy was on her feet, standing just behind him before she realized what she'd done. Her hand stretched the distance between them, stopping a scant inch before she actually touched him. "It's, is it moving?" she asked, mesmerized by the silvery twitching across the straight, strong line of him. 

Her hand dropped and she breathed in his so-familiar scent, "Does it hurt?" 

Loki's neck was bowed, no longer looking at her rather spectacular view of the New York skyline. She knew she'd asked the wrong questions. "What is it?" seemed like a good place to start.

He made a sound like a laugh, but it was so far from one that it in no way qualified as such. "It's a gift from my father," he made that not-laugh again, "from Odin." He turned to face her, and she was glad she didn't have to look at that thing on his back anymore. 

"I can't understand why you are doing this. Why do you care when -," he stopped abruptly.

Darcy glanced away, the weight of his gaze too heavy for what she was compelled to tell him, "I don't know why, but I, I think about you all the time. I know what, or some of what you've done, and I still can't help myself. I care about you. I don't want to, sometimes, anyway, but I do. I care. Just tell me what is going on. I know is you wouldn't have gotten that mad if you didn't feel guilty about something, something important. What?"

That was her theory, at least, half-formed as it was. She tried to remember the words she spoke that night, the point she'd given up on being civil, when her temper had negated any intentions of being _nice_. Principles. _Huh_.

"It's not important," he said, contradicting her automatically.

"I disagree," _see how that works?_  she thought, _and yet, no one's screaming the house down._ Instead she said, "Tell me what Odin did. I won't -,"

"Tell?"

" _Yes_. I'll keep it between us," she promised, sincerity ringing clearly in her voice. 

The smirk he gave her told her clearly what he thought about that, how unlikely he found her assertion. He reached for his shirt and pulled it on with sharp movements that betrayed how much this bothered him. When his glorious porcelain skin was again covered, it was much easier to concentrate, but she still mourned the loss of all that lovely, enticing flesh.

She wanted to reach for him, wanted to reassure him that she would never... _What?_ she wondered. Deceive him? Play him false? Never betray him? All things she was certain had been promised before, and never upheld.

"You can tell, though, right? You can read people, especially if they're... willing?" She shouldn't have read his file, she knew that, but how else was she supposed to learn anything about him? What else should she have done? 

"It's... unpleasant. I won't do that to you," again, he automatically disagreed.

"Look. This is me, showing you I trust you, hoping it'll help you trust me back."

They went back and forth for a few minutes, until finally she felt anger surge again, and snapped, "For the love of all that is holy, will you please just get on with it?" Which was enough of an impetus to get him to grab her by the sides of her face and _look_ at her. _In_  her. 

Darcy let him peel back the layers of her mind. She knew what was happening, but it was like watching an accident happening from a distance - unreal. She had the thought that this should probably bother her, but she couldn't find the thing that made her care about privacy. His eyes spun like a vortex, drawing her under the sea green waves of his gaze. 

The tiny part of her mind that was still _her_ , only buried, that bit that managed to hold herself apart from the deep trenches of his hypnosis recoiled as he rifled through the intentions and questions and memories that made her Darcy. She did not like it, and the speed with which he seemed to evaluate and discard his discoveries made her feel nauseated, but she wasn't ashamed. Her life might not be much, but it was her own.

It was over before she'd gathered enough pieces to revolt because, _surely that was enough? What else was there?_

She didn't scream because he looked absolutely gobsmacked. Whatever he'd found, inside, he'd been expecting something different.

Loki gaped at her, eyes still and flat and deep. An ocean untouched by a breeze for days. His skin was white bordering on blue, lips so dark she might have thought they were black.

"So now you know me," Darcy said, as she tilted her chin up, after pulling his hands down.

She might not understand the intricacies of his abilities, but she knew when she'd been laid bare. There were things she regretted, but nothing she would change, nothing she wanted to change. "What did you find? Was it worth it?"

His face fell, and she felt an accompanying swell of bitterness. He looked like a person who'd just realized that he'd made a terrible mistake. She'd sympathize, except... Her life felt like rags.

Imagination is a powerful thing, though, so she gathered the shreds around her, made them armor instead, steel shards to protect her squishy parts.

"You said Odin gave you that thing on your back," determined to get at the heart of the matter.

"I'm sorry," he said, an unhealthy, blotchy flush filtering it's way up his chest to his neck, before fading back to sticky-looking paleness.

She waved his apology away. He couldn't doubt her anymore, surely, and that almost made it worth it. Nearly.

"You know me now," the urge to shower was overwhelming, as the greasy feeling of his invasion sank in. "So tell me, because you owe me. You _owe_ me, Loki, and if you ever want to be in my general vicinity of my own volition, you'll be honest for possibly the first time in your life. Just tell me. What is the thing on your back?"

The sound of her eyelids crashing together was distracting. 

"I can't tell you."

"Bullshit."

"It doesn't pertain to you," he said, pallor increasing, eyes going glassy.

"Then why the fuck did you come here and," her hands fluttered up, "undress? Why bother talking to me at all?"

Loki dropped to the floor, eyes rolling up so only the whites were visible, twitching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was the definition of "Writing is hard."  
> Nothing about it flowed smoothly, and I'm tired of rewriting it, so... this is me chucking it out of the nest and into the world. Fly, little chapter, fly.  
> Or don't and fall flat :/


	43. Growing Pains

He woke up slowly, in lingering stages that ranged from merely sore and tender to positively agonizing. Loki's skin felt two sizes too small, and his bones ached.

The sensations he was enduring were a vivid reminder, an almost tangible link to the pain of finally growing,  _at last._

Thor had shot up to spectacular heights early, growing _always_.

His brother was a boy made of skinny-long legs, gangly arms and golden blond, knotted hanks of hair, while Loki was simply  _small_. Runty and clumsy, sometimes sickly, but trying to tag along with his big brother even so.

Until one spring night he woke with an itch deep inside. It turned to an unfamiliar burning, and then to a tearing soon enough. He'd locked himself in his room, sure that he was going mad or dying, claimed an interest in _books_ of all things. And since there was nothing else to do but wait for the next round of wracking pain, he found himself actually interested in the possibilities presented in and between the words.

Loki was startled to find at the end of that summer his hours of screaming silently into his pillows at night, mostly - that was when it was really bad- had had somehow translated to inches on his frame. He'd barely noticed that his clothes had gotten so small.

Would he wake up back in Asgard, in his bed, having dreamt a terrible future for himself? His joints ground together and his tendons snapped as his muscles jumped, and he almost convinced himself he'd succumbed to the vicious growing pains and had visions. _Mor_ *  _knows about future dreaming. He'll get up right now and tell her, because she'll know what to do..._

He had almost convinced himself, but not quite.

His mother's death was momentarily fresh again. Again, he felt that sharp stab of knowledge that he'll have another chance to talk to her. He was drawn out of the past because he smelled  _her_.

It wasn't like the faint traces of Darcy that lingered on his tiny, mostly decorative pillow, but enough to feel steeped in her, enough drown him. He breathed deep, before he forced his eyes open. 

The intensity of his headache increased infinitely, pounded with a ferocity that he deserved. The spike driving through his brain made light into spears and starbursts. Darcy's face swept into view, and if he wasn't entirely mistaken, that dear, lovely, wonderful face held worry. Why? After what he did, how?

Loki had been hoarding for months, saving crumbs of magic. He produced enough naturally to keep the illusion of his form, and at some point he'd discovered he could siphon and save the excess. It hadn't been much, obviously, if such a little bit use, such an easy thing, caused this sort of hangover.

"I called your brother," Darcy said, which made Loki sit up straight away. _Obviously, one of many, many errors in judgment tonight_ , he thought as his vision swam and he nearly pitched over. 

She eased him back onto the furry pillow, a soft wonder he immediately fell in love with, "Probably should _not_ try to sit up."

He adored her voice, especially when she was making a joke or one of her deadpan observations, but this tone was truly honey, the concern that was evident a balm, until the words themselves sank in. "Thor is not -."

" _My brother_ ," she finished for him. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Actually, _everyone_ knows, dude. Give it a rest, fucks sake," and the warmth he'd felt completely evaporated. "But I had a feeling you wouldn't want me to call one of the Medical Staff, and since I can't move your enormous ass back to your place or even up into the couch on my own, you'll just have to suck it up, sweet pea. And don't think passing out means I'm letting _stuff_ go. I'm just biding my time."  Darcy sighed heavily, and it occurred to him that her role in all of this wasn't exactly a walk in the park. She patted his head absently, and then...

A sharp knock on her door. He started, because it was so forceful and also because it was so _Thor_. A demand for entry, not an enquiry. He couldn't help but notice that her reaction was the same.

"It's -," Jarvis interrupted.

"Thor! Yeah, I _know_."

Loki was intimately familiar with the contempt she managed to convey in those few words. Despite the excruciating pain and nausea that came from just breathing, he still huffed a laugh, and shifted a little - because as long as _that_ wasn't directed at him, it sort of made him "feel funny in his downstairs places" ( _thank you, Wilson care of the good Captain_ ). 

Darcy got up and opened the door with what could pass as a smile. "Hey," she ushered Thor in with the same admonition about his footwear that Loki had received, and in what seemed like the blink of an eye, he was eye level with Thor's sock-clad ankles.

Loki looked up at his - _ok, fine_ \- brother. _Adopted_. 

Thor looked back down at him from his superior vantage point. "Brother!" he exclaimed, that booming voice of his rattling around in Loki's poor, poor skull.

"What have you done? How?" Thor asked, eyes narrowing in what could have been a comical manner had not Loki known what was coming next: "Should I be advising Heimdall to more closely monitor your actions, Brother?"

Of _course_ the useless sod would recognize the signs _now_ , after finding him in similar straights so many times before without even a hint that he knew that Loki had spent himself - and not in the fun way.

He felt nonplussed, which was honestly as much emotion as he could manage in his current state. "Now you...get a clue? Figures," he mumbled under his breath. (He had to say, mortals had such a creative way with words, and on occasion so fun to use.)

The look of confusion on Thor's face was more than enough reward for using a bit of local slang, but the best part was definitely Darcy's hastily concealed snort of laughter.

"It was nothing, Thor. I was attempting to show off a bit. A parlor trick, nothing more," he told his brother as sincerely as he could, while he sent what he hoped was a covert pleading glance Darcy's way. "Forgive me," he said, and though he'd diverted his attention to Thor, he definitely intended it for her. "I've learnt my lesson."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Mor = Mother in Norwegian, because I am too lazy to look up how to make the odd squiggly d thing used in the Norse translation of the word.


	44. The Many Why's of Pepper Potts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhm, this chapter totally got away from me. Like HYDRA, I cut off one head, only for two more to grow. Sorry for the wait, I just couldn't seem to post it, if that makes any sense.

Last fall, things had been golden. Well, as golden as things could be when one ran possibly the most influential Fortune 500 Company in the world, played house-mom to a bunch of weirdos, loved Tony Stark and lived in what she was pretty sure was a sentient skyscraper. All things considered, Pepper Potts had been managing her day to day superbly. 

That all changed without so much as a ' _By your leave_ '. Her world had flopped sideways with a sound like an explosion coming from the Tower's rooftop. Since whatever-it-was had knocked the cameras so offline JARVIS couldn't begin fix them, no one, ergo Pepper and Security and the Avengers -  her _weirdos -_  not a single person knew exactly what was waiting on the roof.

Tony hadn't even waited for JARVIS to attempt a reboot before he'd suited up and jumped out of their bedroom window. He hadn't even waited for Pepper to pull on her sports bra.

Pepper had listened to the comms from her safe-room, and the general consensus had ranged from "Well, _fuck_ ," to "Well, _shit_ ," which is still the worst language she's ever heard from Steve. Pepper had concurred wholeheartedly when the dust had dissipated enough to give a clear picture through the various body and helmet cams she'd been watching with bated breath. Thor, and next to him, someone she'd never met, but knew on sight. He had given his best shot at destroying her home and killing her boyfriend not so very long ago. Loki.

Before this, in her more charitable moments, she'd pitied him. It didn't take a genius or a licensed therapist to see the issues hanging off of him like toilet paper on a shoe. It didn't take a doctor to see he was clearly unwell when he'd tried to take over the world. Her rational mind could imagine the factors that might have contributed to such a tremendous breakdown, especially when backed up by terabytes of data gleaned from people she knew and trusted. Her feelings were much more unruly. 

When Loki had been discovered on her rooftop the second time, after the initial chaos and panic had died down to a dull murmur...

She had _hated_ this creature and had been glad, viciously _happy_ , that he had been draped in chains, that he had bowed under their weight, those comically huge restraints that his brother had gripped so tightly. 

There's a log of what exactly was said that day in the roof. A verbatim account of overlapping obscenities and imprecations that people, even heroes, make when confronted with the boogeyman personified. Pepper has never looked at it, her memories enough to supply that instant decapitation had been strongly considered. That she had wondered why they didn't just do it, shames her, now.

But that was Pepper's curse. _Why_. 

She'd never been able to just _accept_ something. Not really. Her father swore her first word had been  _Why,_ and that immediately after she'd asked, she'd smashed her hand down on the hot element on the stove. Pepper had carried those scars from that incident she didn't even remember her whole life, a cute story - a reminder.

(Why didn't she just  _die_? Why is she in better shape now than when she was training 4 hours a day and _15_?)

She misses them now that they are gone.

She had never been able to completely erase _Why_ from her vocabulary, or its inevitable results, despite the trouble it continued to get her into.

Why shouldn't she keep the device that had kept Tony alive?

(She'd been told this was _Classic Pepper_. After getting an unsatisfactory answer to her _why_... Do the opposite, and memorialize it! She recognizes that some people might find it a fault, but she'd saved the day, so those people could, well, suck it.)

Why shouldn't she grab life by both hands and change the relationship she had with her boss?

(Not that he'd ever been a _boss_ , not even remotely, even when she'd tried to set professional boundaries early on. But then he'd gotten himself dead, and life had been so dull, flat. How could she refuse him after his resurrection? Why would she?)

Why shouldn't she take that meeting with Killian? Or give one of Tony's many one-night stands a ride and shelter after a very much foreseen terrorist attack?

(Her reaction to  _Why_ isn't always right, but that's life.)

Why shouldn't she get up if she could, grab the glove she knew by heart even if she'd only worn it as an occasional, reluctant test subject? Why shouldn't she use the skills she'd been practicing since before she'd worn braces?

(The hallway in her father's bungalow in Reseda is dedicated to her karate career, white belt to red. Competitions at the Y to State Championships. She'd quit in the middle of her sophomore year of high school, and she'd never earned her black. Her father is her father and had asked why. She'd never told him. Some boy, she didn't even remember his name, had called her a giraffe at some dance, had said _What man would want a girl who could break it off?_ And it felt like the first time in her life that Pepper hadn't asked _why._ It's a lesson she's still unlearning.)

(Now she wants to find Mister Miyagi, earn that belt. _Why_? Because she can.)

Pepper's curse is many-fold, because _why_ has as many facets as it lacks in syllables. 

On that early - way too freaking early - morning almost six months ago, she'd been too shaken to ask her why's. She'd let them drag Loki to a cell, let him stew in confining darkness. She'd turned off her empathy and had refreshed herself on all of the reasons she had to hate him. Not least because she had been forced to evacuate before she could put on more than her yoga gear. 

(Sometimes it's great to be rich and powerful - she'd gotten her choice of couture suits available in her size in 20 minutes.)

The next day, when her hatred had calmed, she'd talked with Thor. Had been presented with a godly decree. The contentment she'd felt that Loki'd been found, that he'd been confined and was certainly miserable, she looks at it now and knows it was petty, but she doesn't fault herself. 

The words on the page had not been any of the languages she spoke, they were runes if she wasn't entirely mistaken. Nonetheless, she'd understood them as easily as if she'd been reading an article in People Magazine. She'd skimmed for the highlights. 

_Traitor. Untrustworthy. Leashed. Banished. Unworthy. Unprincipled. Monster._

Pepper's first instinct had been: Why did they have to keep him? Send him back. Why was this their responsibility?

Then her eyes had drifted back up.

She'd gone back to the word she had no real contemporary equivalent for - banished. _Made to leave. Blacklisted. Burned._ Those were the closest things she'd associated with it. Until she'd taken the time to read the whole document more thoroughly.

_Be advised that this prisoner is a traitor, to any people that might have claimed him. He is untrustworthy. At this time, he requires permanent imprisonment, with minimal contact to the outside world._

_I have banished him_.

_Be advised that Loki Laufeyson is no longer my son. He will find no sanctuary nor succor in any of my kingdoms or any of my allies' territories.  In accordance with my queen's wishes, I've granted as much leniency as I can muster, but I will not have him here. Thus it falls to Midgard to harbor him with as much prejudice as can be mustered. He will be guarded by my son and heir, Thor Odinsson, until such time as his duties on Asgard necessitate otherwise..._

And with those words she'd understood so much. Loki wasn't even left with the name he'd had since he'd been adopted as a baby.

Pepper had also recognized that she was lucky. Incredibly, excruciatingly lucky. She might not have had a mother, but she couldn't imagine a situation where her father would ever commit those words to paper about her. She had thought the shaky quality of the words had been something about whatever method that had been used to display them in an understandable script, but she'd realized then that it had been rage that had trembled the hand that had written it.

 _Be advised that he is leashed, in every sense of the word. I have severed his bond to_ _Yggdrasil, and the illusion that keeps his form locked will consume any excess [complicated rune]. Midgard will not be troubled by his mischief and mayhem._

She'd asked Thor, had poked at the word Yggrasil with a finger, "Tree of Life?"

Thor had looked so pleased that Pepper had guessed right.

"And this one?" she'd indicated that rune that hadn't translated.

He'd been so happy to share, to explain, she hadn't stopped his ramble, even if she didn't been able to follow all the words and terms he'd used. It had been so nice to see him smile again, that she hadn't the heart to stop his words. Besides, eventually, he'd circled back around to the significance with two surprisingly concise sentences: _Everything, everyone is connected to the Tree. It feeds us, as we feed it._  

By the way he described the rest, she'd gotten the impression that people who use "magic" were able to draw from Yggrasil's power like a well. 

Loki had been cut off from the well.

Pepper had blanched. She couldn't imagine being cut off from one of her talents, because even if she'd given up on her karate, it had still been there when she'd needed it most.

"Loki's form?" she'd croaked.

"You're aware that he's adopted? That he's not Asgardian?" Thor had been so serious, it had been jarring.

Pepper had nodded.

"Jotun are," and here Thor had paused uncharacteristically, "different than you or I. They're, well they're blue for one." A laugh like at inside joke, "Big. Huge, really." Stormy eyes had misted over as he'd drifted down memory lane. 

None of what she'd heard that day had been anything that she'd needed in her life. A huge, blue guy who hated her species trapped in a human-shaped skin-suit. Powered by magic. Which he had no other power source for other than by "producing" it.  Who'd been coerced into cooperating with a terrifying shadow-villain whose universe conquering plans her weirdos had apparently thwarted by shoving a nuke in his dimensional portal. That was who was staying in her sub-sub-basement. 

Needless to say, after she'd finished sufficiently freaking herself out, she'd made sure none of _that_ had been put in any official records. As far as _the decree_  was concerned, she was Empress of Midgard, there was no one but Thor privy to it. His last name she left blank.

Weeks after their conversation, Pepper had gladly approved the request to have Dr Foster, and her research move to one of the empty labs on the Science floor. She'd hoped that having her around would keep Thor closer to his brother, and it did. Even if she'd had to house another two people, it wasn't like they didn't have the space. 

Brilliant plan of keeping Thor and Bruce nearby as much as possible aside, she'd also delved into research about Loki. The number of surveillance logs, psychological reports, transcriptions of interviews, the postulations of scientists and experts she'd read was enormous. Unfortunately, it had left her with more questions than answers.

What she'd felt helped answer more of her questions had been her frank talks with Dr Foster, with  _Jane_. The petite brunette could have been easy to underestimate, but Pepper had seen so much intelligence and determination when they'd negotiated her contract, there had been no way she was going to make that mistake.

Instead, she'd listened when Jane had described how rigidly defined gender roles were in Asgard. That female warriors were rare, but not as rare as a male doing "magic", something Jane was convinced was definitely just science humans didn't yet understand. Pepper wondered if Jane found as much irony as she did in the fact that science on Earth was so male-dominated as to be toxic, while the opposite was true over the rainbow?

She'd wondered how hard Loki had worked to gain proficiency, and how much shit he'd had to take to do so.

In that moment Pepper had felt sympathy for him. She could understand how bitterness could fester under those circumstances.

A month later, she'd remembered that letter, all her research and that moment of sympathy when she granted Dr Foster's request to use him for his unique expertise. She'd had to negotiate for his cooperation by having him moved to an empty guest apartment on the Avengers floor, but she'd sold the idea to everyone else by asking _Where would he be better guarded?_   _In the sub-basement, 52 floors away from Bruce, or within 3 floors from the one human their friend was actually scared of?_

It turned out that he wasn't the boogeyman she'd imagined. He was occasionally rude. He was occasionally condescending. He was not that bad. In small doses.

Her desk chimed suddenly and she flicked the appropriate spot to open the message from Tony.

> Sorry, Pep. Gotta cancel lunch. Bad guys in LA [Iron-Man Glove Giving a Peace Sign Emoji]
> 
> -sent from my mark 79

Pepper had been looking forward to lunch with Tony, but it wasn't like she'd actually expected it to happen.

Tony likes to say he can feel the mood of the Tower. And maybe he can, but Pepper can only ask if someone is happy, and if not, why. Tony says he's happy, but he's not, and Pepper asks her why's, but he never answers. Not really. He says he's got it under control, and what _it_ is, Pepper knows (even if he won't say it) is his sanity.

(He doesn't have _it_ under control and she knows why. It kills her that she can't fix it, or make him see that his "handle on it" is an illusion.)

The mood of the Tower for the last week, even Pepper can tell, is low. Game Night had been abysmal. When she'd asked why, she'd been surprised - those two?

_Really?_

At first glance, they're hardly integral. But their misery had nonetheless spread, and now even _Bruce_ is mopey. Angry is fine, they all pretty much have a handle on Angry!Bruce, but this maudlin _thing_ skulking around, listening to sad folk music has. Got. To. Go.

Pepper tapped the file she'd been looking at, before she'd started reminiscing. These preliminary drafts Natasha had been forward-thinking enough to appropriate from the Law Offices of Murdock & Wilson indicated their plans to bring a case against the Avengers division of Stark Industries.

Despite her first impulse - _Why not just let them go forward with it?_ \- she could not allow the various State and Federal bureaus that would come running if given even the smallest opportunity to review some of their more sensitive research. She had get out in front of this situation before any paperwork was officially filed.

All of her research indicated that they took care of their neighborhood clientele to the detriment of their bottom line. That they took impossible cases no one else would touch, and that they'd won a lot more than they had lost. They obviously valued their principles.

She appreciated that, even respected it, but she couldn't let them make this their cause. _Why deter them?_ She realized there were other options.

When Loki had first been dropped on her doorstep, she hadn't thought a lot of things through. Now things had changed. She didn't hate his guts anymore. She wasn't about to buy him birthday presents, but seeing him on the fringes during game night didn't set her teeth on edge. 

Why hold to that odious letter, written by a bitter monarch too angry to address issues he'd helped cause? In fact, that "decree" seemed to have been specifically drafted to irk her to her very bones.

What harm could there be from allowing him to leave the building for short periods of time? His magic was "leashed". Her best and brightest, and Natasha, all agreed that he wasn't being controlled by the invisible puppet master they had yet to ferret out. He couldn't do anything on any scale, because he hadn't been able to gather a base of power.

She'd already broken most of the other specifications, like keeping him isolated from others, confining him to a cell. Why not let him wander a few well-chaperoned rooms someplace else for a few hours? She donated, and raised, a lot of money for a variety of libraries, among them, the the New York Public Library. An after hours visit was something she could arrange with relative ease. 

"JARVIS, I'd like to speak with Natasha and Happy. Please see if they're available to meet... now-ish."

"Ms Potts, Mr Hogan is vacationing this week. Shall I -,"

"Shit," she hissed between clenched teeth. She should have known that. She'd just gotten back from vacation and she already wanted another. "No, let him enjoy his time off. Who else lives on the fiftieth floor is qualified to do high-risk security and isn't scheduled for anything with an importance level of 4 or higher for the next 72 hours?"

"Sam Wilson meets those parameters."

"Perfect! Please arrange the meeting as soon as possible."

"Shall I inform them as to the purpose of the meeting?"

"No, thank you, JARVIS. I'll explain when they arrive."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Am I saying Pepper Potts could have been the karate kid after Hilary Swank? I'm not NOT saying it.
> 
> (I have to amuse myself when I can.)


	45. I'm a Fucking Delight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to that "Imagine your otp" tumblr post that I can't find because the tumblr app for the kindle is the worst.

He still had her memories right there. Fresh in his mind. It really drove home how awful he truly was. He'd been too busy feeling like he'd been eaten and shat back out by a bilgesnipe yesterday, but in the cold light of nearly-day: He was an arsehole. 

How did one come back from that? 

It was one thing to get a read on surface thoughts while gambling. It was only logical if real stakes were involved, to use any advantage available to win. He'd never once considered it cheating. Likewise, if he gave someone a little nudge and they chose to share their secrets, who was he to stop them? It was what he did. What he used to contribute beyond tactical advice Thor inevitably discounted.

This felt different from that, though. This felt like he'd taken advantage in the most basic sense. 

She'd let him. She'd encouraged him, even if she'd not had a single clue of what she was doing. 

Loki stared out the window at the approach of dawn. It was too early to go knock on her door again. 

He felt stupid as he held the cellphone in his hand. It was small and "so easy to use." All Loki knew was that it sometimes makes noises and occasionally flashed bits of messages or tiny pictures on the screen. Which was his obstinance speaking. 

Sighing heavily, he pushed the lone button on the bottom and the screen came alive. The time of day precluded calling her, much like it did going and knocking on her door. He touched the message icon, and then Darcy's last "text" from him. His hands were delicate instruments - capable of the most intricate and sensitive of magic, capable of sliding a dagger between the smallest chinks of armor. Tapping out a message into this thing was an entirely different matter. His words changed on their own, something which he'd been explained was called "autocorrect", but was actually torture.

It took far too long, but he managed to eventually send her a message that conveyed his desire to see her at her earliest convenience. He thought - correctly - that this was hardly the time to indulge in the curious mortal custom of sending pictures of one's genitals. 

Later, after a disappointing wait through morning, he slowly made his way to the break room. Wilson was there, sipping coffee and eating the circular pastry known as a doughnut. "Hey, Loki. 'Sup?"

Loki grumbled. Wilson laughed. 

"The reunion didn't go well, then?"

Loki shook his head, ordered his tea. "Not exactly," he responded.

"Ladies like honesty, dude. I told you. Don't listen to Steve. The man uses the word  _fondue_ as a sexual euphemism."

"I thought you liked men?"

Wilson laughed again, "Not that that has anything to do with anything, but my sisters taught me well. Take my advice. If you want to keep getting that sweet, sweet lovin', you'll suck it up, and tell her what's going on in that proportionately tiny head of yours. Also, you might consider some good old-fashioned groveling. That works sometimes."

"My head is perfect."

"Whatever you say. Look I gotta go, but good luck."

Loki leaned against the counter while he sipped tea and contemplated his options. The door opened and Darcy strode in with two cups and a scowl. Her eyes rolled as she saw him.

"I want to apologize, again. I -," Loki started.

"Don't want to hear it, so unless the next words out of your mouth is an actual explanation for why you freaked out, just zip it," she interrupted as she rinsed out the cups.

"Actually, I did want to say that you had a point. And that you deserved better than what I did to you. I suppose you meant well."

Darcy gave him a squinty eyed look that left no doubt she had yet to start on the path to forgiveness. "You suppose I meant well?"

"Yes."

"You're a dick."

"Well, yes, and you were already well-aware of that. But I realized that you are important to me... and I will tell you everything you want to know."

Lips pursed, she looked at him for a moment or two. "Promise?"

He nodded.

* * *

The wine was poured. The candles lit. Music played softly in the background - music she'd introduced him to late one night. He hadn't understood then - "I got the blues", she'd said that night as man and guitar wailed in the background. _The blues, I feel sad,_ she'd explained. How apt that blue for mortals was sad, and envy green. His colors. One he wore outside, and one he was inside.

She declined the wine, blew out the candles, turned off the music and turned all the lights on. "I'd rather just get right to the point." Darcy didn't sit, just propped herself up on the wall, arms crossed and staring.

Perhaps Wilson was on to something when he'd suggested groveling.

"I don't often have people who are willing to go out on a limb for me," he started. "Actually, aside from Mother, no one really has."

"Gee, I can't imagine why." 

Loki smiled despite himself, "I have no idea. I'm a fucking delight."

Darcy snorted and smiled back. 

* * *

Loki couldn't remember the last time anyone had listened to him without trying to dig around in his psyche. He talked about growing up in Asgard, growing up a prince. What a disappointment his father found him, and how much he had loved his mother for never making him feel that way. 

He trusted her to keep it all to herself. 

He trusted her. 

At some point in his monologue she'd taken a seat next to him, and taken his hand. It was so good to run his thumb across her knuckles, soothing. He might not have been able to continue without it. 

His words stuttered to a stop when he tried to explain how he'd been sucked in by the creature who'd offered him the means to take her world. How in the end, _choice_ had been an illusion. He tried again, but couldn't make the words come. 

Thankfully, it had been enough. 

Enough to have her crawling into his lap, to wrap her arms around him while he tried not to shudder. "I'm sorry," he breathed into her hair. "It's not... I'll try. For you, I'll try."

"I know. But do it for you, and I'll be there."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being lovely.


	46. Exposure

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vague smut ahead.

The light was practically blinding, harsh, buzzing fluorescents another _Fuck you_ too petty to actually complain about. Besides, _all the better to see you with._

Eyes open, breath skating across skin and raising goosebumps, muttered words that either mean nothing or everything. Hands tangled in hair, they both know that it's not a particularly sensible decision. He's too pretty for her to resist, too broken to give up on, a weakness for strays and impossible hope written in her DNA. She's temptation itself, and he's no longer capable of anything but surrender.

She's not at all what he wanted. She's never going to be politic, but he can't even begin to care. Her curves under inquisitive fingers are familiar already. Ghost touches, an unfair advantage to him - he can't regret it, not when he brushes with unerring accuracy the accessible parts that make her shiver. He follows paths she's traced before.

He's not at all what she wanted. He's never going to be human, and no matter how much he talks, he'll always know her better than she knows him, maybe better than she knows herself. She's not going to be outdone, and this part doesn't scare her much. 

Her sigh breaks the not-quite silence as she brushes steady hands under his multitude of shirts. His hisses make a harmonious counterpoint. Fabric is pushed aside, nudity not as important as access. Hard and soft. Wet and dry. Waiting. Pressing. Retreating.

Has anything ever felt so important?

His gasp almost breaks her heart. It echoes so perfectly what is in her head. She doesn't forget the odds against them, she just doesn't care. 

He fills her so perfectly, he forgets worlds and realms and all the things he has to prove.

They whimper together, awkward thrusts and too-sharp angles, and still so good.

Loki kisses Darcy and the moment comes into focus. 

Neither can hide here.

In this harsh, fluorescent light, there's nothing else that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean of course they had to do it after all the shit I put them through. 
> 
> Group hug! (As suggested by marshmallowdeviant)


	47. The Assholes

Natasha had argued that _the assholes_ could start to figure out their differences just as easily in the backseat of the Maybach as they could in a Chevy Impala. She swore it had nothing to do with the 520-some-odd horsepower engine, but Sam didn't believe her at all, and neither did anyone else, including Tony Stark, who had vetoed her request for the vehicle. Which had mattered not at all, as it turned out. 

He had to say, it was a much less awkward affair than he'd been expecting. He'd come across Loki in the break room yesterday, and the guy had been pining. Not that he'd admit to that, but it didn't take a tower full of people with doctorates to figure out that Loki missed Darcy.

Sam swooped up, caught a current and sailed along above the wildly expensive Mercedes, looking for anything out of place. "Clear up here, how's it look down there?"

"Weird. Did they make up? Never mind. _Hey, you two! Stop that. No tongue in the car. What if we were rear ended, huh?_ Christ. Assholes."

"Not what I meant, Nat, but thanks for the color commentary."

"Whatever, Sam. It's clear so far. Any traffic ahead? _If you don't stop kicking the back of my seat, assface, I will pull this car over and give you the thrashing of your life_."

"Nothing that will impede your progress. Everything copacetic down there?"

"No. Tall-y McLongshanks is sitting behind me, and he keeps kneeing my seat! _Do it again. I dare you._ " He could practically hear the expression on her face; eyes narrowed, chin up.

"We're only allowed to stop in an emergency, Nat," Sam reminded Natasha gently.

" _Loki. Be nice..._   _So, Matt told me you visited him the other night,_ " Darcy said, voice tinny and distant, caught by the open mic on accident.

"Shuddup, Darce."

" _Is Matt the lawyer person you were talking about?"_ Loki put a strange emphasis on the word lawyer, but on the whole, sounded way too amused.

" _Khvatit! Dovol'no!_ * Both of you will be still, or so help me..."

"Who's this Matt?" Sam asked, intrigued by the vehement response such of an innocent statement. Not much pushed Nat to Russian.

"Eat me, Sam. ETA three minutes, go for landing."

He was about to go full on inquisitive, but the library was coming up, and he needed to land. He'd save the grilling for later.

Picking up speed to get there with enough time do a quick scan before Natasha's arrival, he whooped for the sheer joy of flying, before focusing on the task at hand. It wasn't long before he glided down and hit the pavement with a couple of smooth steps. The new setup was pretty great. His wings folded gracefully back and tucked together, just a few moments later.

While he watched the car come to a stop, there was a curious prickle in the back of his neck, like someone was looking at him real hard. It was as dark as New York ever got, which was to say, not very, but he didn't see anyone out of place or the glint off a scope.

He checked in with the perimeter guards, just to be safe, and strode over to the car when he got all ten ' _All clear_ 's. Natasha took point, clipping along at a face pace till they reached the entry. A librarian met them and ushered them in with a curiosity that burned in his eyes. 

The librarian wore a nice suit, fitted and modern, but subdued, a stark contrast to the neon green striped socks Sam noticed as he followed their little group to the massive desk near the entrance. 

There was talk about subject matter interests, a lively debate between demigod and librarian as they discussed reference material like he opined about the '96 Bulls. Sam had been assigned boring details before, but this might actually crack the top ten. 

He almost rejoiced when they started to move deeper into the library, just because they were doing something. The room they ended up in wasn't the musty horror he'd been imagining, but brightly lit and exceptionally clean. He waited outside scanning for intruders or anything else that might be problematic. 

Their time was just about up, when something moved in his periphery. He flicked his goggles to check for any temperature spikes that would indicate another person. Sam didn't see anything, but that prickly feeling had returned and he was starting to get antsy. 

"Nat, possible contact. No visual contact. Status inside?"

"Nothing out of the ordinary," Sam heard Natasha shift a bit, as she presumably moved. "Doors are secure. Perimeter check?"

Once again, Sam got the ten ' _All clear'_ s he was expecting, but he still had that very funny feeling. He made a mental note to review the security footage when he got home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Khvatit! Dovol'no! is basically Russian for "That's enough". I was advised by my Russian friend that the exclamation points are important, whatever that means.


	48. A Mystery Wrapped in an Enigma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My WiFi at work was wonky today, and I guess this didn't post when I thought it did.

He feels a strange affinity for this city.

There have been many cities, towns, villages, forests and deserts and this is the only one that speaks to him. It's like reading a book in an archaic dialect, though. Similar enough to get the gist, but not quite right. 

New York feels like a word caught on the tip of his tongue.

His hair is longer than it should be, shaggy and unkempt. Greasy. When he runs his fingers through it, he doesn't recognize the sensation, much like he doesn't always recognize the face he sees in the mirror. Somehow he always imagines himself different. 

Voices follow him, snatches of conversations that don't feel real. Names find him while he sleeps, faces peer out of reflections in windows. Sometimes he only thinks he's crazy, and sometimes he knows. 

The library he gets lost in offers both questions and answers. Not all of them, but enough to feel like his life didn't start on the last three pages of book. He's found a few pages from the beginning, some from the middle. He wonders if he'll be able to change how it will end.

He's been watching the watchers. Their observation of Steve Rogers and Co is not so different from his own, a game of hurry-up and wait that annoys and thrills. He doesn't know what they are waiting for any more than he knows what he's waiting for, but maybe it's as simple as timing. 

They're all on a collision course, the only real question is when they'll all crash together.

A brunette he's noticed before at the Avengers Tower walks in with a tall man. The way the tall man struts like he owns the place immediately sets his teeth on edge. This couple, flanked fore and aft by important players, have drawn more interest than all of Steve's team combined, and he wonders why. Why the fierce, little redhead and the flying man protect them, how they're important. 

He has to be more careful. The winged man almost caught him as he spied from the stacks. 

Deciding that he couldn't risk following them home, he stays in the library after they leave and it quiets. Looking for clues in the materials that the tall man had copied from offers nothing useful. Perhaps there's a connection between the Norse mythology the tall man had been interested in and the alien with the hammer, but he can't see it yet.

He settles down to rest, snugly hidden among worn out books destined for recycling or sale. Thumbing through a worn copy of "Captain America & the Howling Commandos - An Oral History", he lingers on the slick pages with pictures in the middle. Sometimes he gets flashes of a life he supposes must be his, but are as unfamiliar as the kind, happy eyes he sees staring out from the pages marked James "Bucky" Buchanan. It's his face. It is. But those are not his eyes. 

He wants to go home, what he's read was his home. But it's true what they say, _you can never go home_. What was once home is now an empty, trash-filled lot in Brooklyn. Now there's no smell of cabbage and vinegar, no voices mingling in the stairwell, no hopeful families, no bricks or windows or wood. It's just a hole where he used to be. 

Steve is the only home he has left, and he's not brave enough to see if it's still there.

Not brave enough yet.

Maybe when he figures out the mystery of the tall man and the brunette, he will be.

Or maybe not. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've also noticed my replies are gone... so sorry. I'll get back to you tomorrow (today - lol). 
> 
> <3 you all


	49. That's What She Said

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is courtesy of a fever and copious NyQuil.

It was a dark and stormy night.

_No, that's not right._

It was a misty, moody evening.

_Nope. Wrong again._

Fine. Christ.

It was an hour after a long day at work. The sky was dingy with smog, but the weather was perfectly fine. 

Better?

_Much. Thank you. Accuracy in details is important. You may proceed._

Gee, thanks.

After pizza, a food Loki had a surprising fondness for, the plan was to Skype with Matt'n'Foggy so the lawyers could meet the person who she'd actually hired them for. That was the simple, easy, manageable plan, but Loki was having exactly none of it. 

Oh, the pizza had gone according to plan, but the after part was proving to be a bit more difficult than she'd hoped. 

"Can't you just sit? Please?" Darcy asked, voice edging over into wheedling territory.

Loki shook his head as he paced in front of the windows, "I don't want to."

"Come on, we talked about this. It's important to me." She wasn't quite ready to give up just yet, so she kept her tone calm and reasonable. A fortifying gulp of wine helped with that as well. 

Loki stilled his restless wanderings, glancing at her with the considering look that usually meant he was going to say the wrong thing. Darcy braced herself for the inevitable.

"I know, I know," he said, surprising her with his mild, soft tone. He strolled over, long limbs loose and limber under the black t-shirt and jeans despite the tension she knew he felt. She looked up as he neared, momentarily distracted by _him_. Running a hand down the side of her face, he leaned down to kiss her temple. "Sorry, darling."

The endearment startled a giggle and a blush from her. She twisted around to watch him make his way to the kitchen to open the refrigerator to rummage around inside. He didn't seem to notice how she'd reacted or intently she was regarding him. _Darling_ , she considered. _Darling_. In that accent it went straight to her head, like a cold glass of good champagne. Beyond that initial burst of bubbly happiness, she tried to think if he'd ever called her anything but her name...

Mortal, of course. Hissed through teeth clenched at first. Then, grudgingly, Darcy Lewis, for a long time. She'd considered it somewhat of a triumph when she'd forced him to acknowledge her by name. After that night weeks, no, it been _months_  ago by now, Darcy mostly. Sometimes he said it like it was precious to him, but that was usually after they'd _vigorously exhausted_ themselves, so she wasn't entirely sure if that counted. Darcy wasn't entirely sure about anything to do with this thing she and Loki had going on, just that it felt like it could be important. And now darling. It was so... Not how she saw herself. Somehow old-fashioned and strangely formal. Dude, she was used to; babe, she tolerated; she'd even dated a guy who insisted on calling her bro. 

Loki took out her bottle of wine, uncorked it while standing there with the door held open by his cocked hip, light spilling out with the cold. He gave a quick, sceptical sniff and winced, replacing the cork hastily. "How you drink that swill is beyond me," he muttered and bent back to his search.

"Don't judge me, monkey. It does what it's supposed to: take the edge off," she responded, even though his comment had certainly been rhetorical. 

He lifted his head a little and peered at her over the top of the door. She could tell by the way his eyes crinkled at the corners that he was smiling. Shaking his head, he disappeared behind the door again. "Fine," he said, muffled inside her fridge, making her wonder if he'd stuck his whole head in there, "I'll speak with these lawyers of yours." _But you owe me_ was unspoken, though definitely implied. Eh, she owed everyone something these days.

She flopped backwards on her couch, punching the air, _victory_ , and laid there with her shins hanging across the arms and her feet dangling in the air, until he came back into view with a glass of apple juice. 

She sat up partway, and he obliged her by sitting so she could lay her head on his lap. From this angle she got a good look up his nose. She reached up a hand and tilted his face down, so she could look at his eyes instead. "Look, I know you're not comfortable with having someone else represent you, but these guys have a reputation for winning cases that they shouldn't. And, frankly, we, well  _you_ aren't exactly someone who naturally engenders sympathy, so... use any available advantage, right?" Darcy patted his cheek. "If you still hate the idea after you've met them, fine, we'll figure something else out, but just give them a chance. Ok?"

"I already agreed, didn't I?" Loki huffed, narrowing his eyes at her.

Darcy smiled up at him, and his lips twitched, "Yes, you did. Thank you. _Darling_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last week was pretty terrible. Sorry for the delay. Couldn't quite concentrate.


	50. Natty & Matty, Sitting in a Tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G

Loki was the first to admit he hadn't expected to like the two _lawyers_ Darcy had scrounged up from some midden heap somewhere. But the sad truth was, they were actually quite astute and had certainly done their research. When they weren't picking uncomfortably close to the truth, he found he almost _liked_ them, despite his better judgment.

Darcy had drifted off when he had started genuinely conversing with the pair, her bedroom door clicking softly shut behind her. He wasn't certain if he appreciated the privacy she gave him - he'd rather have her there, but he supposed it was thoughtful of her to consider his feelings. 

He'd been confused about how or why these two strangers cared at all, until they clarified that they were receiving compensation for their work. Which cleared up much of his confusion, and honestly some of his hesitation. Loki did like his shiny things, and he was aware that one generally needed to pay to procure said shiny things. Darcy clearly didn't have much, and the thought that she had cared enough to use her meager resources on him was more than he'd expected.

So he answered their pointed questions, and tried not to confirm any of their uncomfortably accurate suppositions while still being somewhat truthful.

No, he wasn't here to try to take over the world again.

Yes, he regretted the loss of life his previous attempt had caused.

There was no point in asking if he would do things differently. What sort of idiotic nonsense was that? 

No, he wasn't interested in speaking with a "licensed therapist". 

Yes, he understood that could be detrimental to his "case". 

No, he wasn't able to clarify the origins of the "shiny disco-stick". No, he hadn't been aware that it had been lost at one point.

Yes, he was doing his best to assist where his expertise was needed. 

No, he couldn't expose any current extraterrestrial threats against Earth.

Yes, he understood that they were under the impression his rights were being trampled on.

No, he didn't see the point to any of this. He'd outlive their great-great-great grandchildren, and escape if and when it suited him. 

All the while, the blond, Foggy, sat there, scribbling notes and checking his papers, while his cohort, the one with the dark spectacles sat with his disconcerting attention rapt on every word Loki said. At his last, admittedly annoyed remark, they conferred with the sort of short hand - abbreviated, fragments of sentences punctuated by yes's and no's - that people who'd spent a great deal of time together, who had the same reference points, used to communicate. He felt it like a stab that he wasn't likely to have that again.

The interview was mercifully coming to a close when there was a rather forceful knock at the door. Loki excused himself, and opened the door, surprised to see Natasha standing in the hallway with the sort of studied nonchalance that only made it clear she was trying far too hard to project a facade. He'd never actually seen her try so hard at anything - she was the epitome of effortless.

"I need to speak with Darce," she said as she pushed her way inside, leaving Loki gaping at her rudeness. "Where is she?" the woman asked, turning around in the living room, as if he had personally hidden the brunette from her. 

And then her face went slack. Loki saw Foggy give a wave from the screen, "Hi, Natasha."

Matt blanched, expression mimicking perfectly Natasha's, and Loki knew something was "going on".

"Oh," she said, and shocked Loki with the pink stain spreading across her face. "Hi Foggy. Matt," and her voice changed with that syllable. 

 _Oooh_. Dirt on the incomparable assassin? The day was looking up. Loki grinned, pointing to the bedroom, "She's in there." He was quite certain he'd be able to pry the story from Darcy later.

Later, when all the guests, both virtual and real, had departed, with Darcy tucked back into her spot on his lap, drinking more terrible wine, Loki wondered out loud about any mortal customs relating to the ribbing of someone in a relationship. 

Darcy, silly with alcohol, gleefully sang, "Janey and Thor-y, sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. First comes loves, then comes marriage, then comes a terror in a baby carriage."

Naturally, the subject matter horrified him. Jane and Thor having offspring? He shuddered at the thought. Though, he might start calling his bro- ( _BUGGER!)_ Thor, Thor-y. Just to see how red his face got. 

* * *

Loki hummed the simple tune the next time he and Natasha sparred. She was _Not Amused_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Accidental post earlier... I totally posted when I meant to Save Without Posting. Sorry!


	51. Things Big and Small and In Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And we're back. (again...)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know... I abandoned poor LTD for [super angst](http://archiveofourown.org/works/7578394/chapters/17243002). No excuses. Had to be done. I thank you for your patience.
> 
> If it makes you feel better, the rest is plotted out and all but written, though the next few chapters are more for my personal need to make these two be cute together.

Jane was elbow deep in the guts of what Darcy called the Really Big Thingie, which differed from That Thing and the Smallish Thingie in both size and function. Stark probably meant to be helpful when he tinkered with her equipment, but her specifications were extremely precise and required a patience he didn't seem to have.

Cowboy engineering was all fine and dandy when you were building suits and wings, she supposed, but for this she needed her own steady hands. 

Calibrations finally complete, she wiped her hands on her pants and took a sip of her coffee. It was cold and gross, but she swallowed it anyway. Normally she'd send one of the Minions to fetch her a fresh cup, but she'd been hunched over the Really Big Thingie for hours and stretching her legs was probably a good idea, something Darce would have suggested had Jane not sent her home for sneezing and snotting all over the place. Jane would not let Darcy contaminate the doughnuts, best friend or not. 

Sam was reading the paper when Jane walked in the break room. On the front page was another story about the Devil of Hell's Kitchen. The picture wasn't very good quality, but he'd apparently gotten himself a hoodie-wearing sidekick. Something about the way the new guy was leaping to deliver a punch to a drug dealer was tickling the recognition area in Jane's brain, but Loki chose that moment to enter, interrupting her train of thought.

"Have you seen Darcy?" he asked, ever so casually.

Of course Jane knew where Darcy was, but that didn't mean she had to make it easy for him. She shook her head.

"Have you tried texting her?" Jane asked, all wide-eyed innocence.

Was it petty to needle him? Sure, but it was enjoyable nonetheless.

Loki huffed out a breath, eyes slitting in suspicion. 

Jane smiled back, embodying sweetness and light.

The door banged open, revealing an annoyed Natasha who stomped over to Sam and demanded he stop being a lazy bastard and get back to training.

"And _you,_ " Natasha said, pivoting on her heel to point a finger up at Loki's face.

Jane didn't hear precisely what she said after that, because there was something about the way Nat's arm was positioned and the memory of the hoodie she was wearing when they met at the doughnut shop this morning. Something that niggled the back of her mind.

After Natasha had herded the menfolk from the room, Jane very nonchalantly shuffled over to the table Sam had left the newspaper on and picked up the wrinkly, unruly mess of paper with a flash of nostalgic fondness. Her dad had always read one in the morning with his coffee.

Straightening the paper with a practiced snap of her wrists, she was not just pretty sure that the picture on the front page was of Natasha, she was pretty sure that meant the blurry shadow at her side was likely Matt, the cute blind lawyer Jane had caught Natasha with at the doughnut shop.

 _Matt from the bar is the Devil of Hell's Kitchen_. Jane tested the words in her head, just to get a sense of how absurd it sounded. She must've looked like a lunatic when Natasha walked back in abruptly, and Jane was smiling with her head cocked to the side as she regarded the front page picture of what was evidently her friends date.

Natasha looked at Jane and then looked at the newspaper. Looked at Jane again and back at the paper. Then she snatched an unnoticed cup of coffee off the counter and turned around and left without another word.

The day only got weirder when Jane left work that evening and caught Loki wandering up to Darcy's door only to turn around and start back the other way. He shook his head and pivoted again, returning to Darcy's door hand hovering scant inches from her door as if he wasn't sure if he should knock. He seemed to be holding something in his other hand, it looked like a book, and Jane's curiosity was piqued.

"What cha doing?" she asked.

Loki shoulders fell and he sighed heavily as he turned to face her. He gestured sheepishly at Darcy's door, "Trying to decide if she would want my company."

Jane smiled, "That's easy, just knock. She'll let you know one way or another."

"I don't want to disturb her," he hedged and looked as if he was about to make an escape.

Her hand shot out of its own volition, grabbing onto his sleeve. They weren't friends, in fact Jane barely tolerated him, but he seemed to make Darcy smile, and Jane was willing to put up with him for that alone. "No, don't go. She'll probably be happy to see you. If she's doing as poorly as I suspect, you might consider helping her out a little."

He still seemed unsure, which, oddly enough, made him rise a notch or two in her estimation. It made it seem possible that he was somewhere close to genuinely caring about Darcy.

"Trust me," she said, even if he had no reason to, and indeed, snorted at her words, "this is what people do when they care about someone. They help out even if they're not asked."

She let go of his sleeve and knocked on Darcy's door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thanks for reading.


	52. That's What People DO When They Care About Someone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some fluff. Actually, have ALL the fluff.

"For fucks sake, I'm coming!" Darcy tried to yell at the door and whoever it was with the infernal knock-knock-knocking. If the universe was merciful it would be her soup. "I heard you the first time."

She wasn't sure how effective her ire was when it was punctuated by a coughing fit and her throat was too raw to give it any real volume or oomph.

Her apartment had never felt as large as it did right then. Maybe she shouldn't have turned JARVIS's volume down, but his voice was grating on her poor sick ears.

She'd been hoping that it was her food order, spicy chicken soup from the cafe in the lobby, but Jane and Loki were standing there instead. Jane didn't come in, she just stood in the hallway while Loki stared at her. Darcy waved him in with a watery smile, and he wandered into her living room. "Just checking up on you," Jane told her, from a presumably safe distance. 

"I'm," _cough-hack-choke_ , "fine." 

Jane looked skeptical as only she could manage, squinty-faced and wide-eyed at the same time, "Yeah, I don't think so. Take tomorrow off, too. Call me if you need anything, but, please don't come to work. We'll manage just fine without you for a day or two." She looked behind Darcy, addressing Loki directly, "You, on the other hand, have been MIA too much lately. Plan for a full day in the lab tomorrow." Her arms reached out for a brief second, but she dropped them after Darcy sneezed violently. "No hugs for you. Get some rest and feel better. See ya."

Darcy nodded pathetically and closed the door as Jane walked off.

"Hi," she croaked, as she dragged her feet across the floor, not quite able to actually walk.

"Hello," he said, standing awkwardly in the middle of the living room. "You look terrible."

Darcy coughed out a weak laugh. "Yeah, thanks. I feel pretty terrible, too. What are you doing here?"

"I didn't hear from you all day and,-" he was interrupted by another knock on the door just as she'd finally made it to the nest she'd built for herself on her couch.

"Can you get that for me? It's probably my food," she asked, exhaustion pulling at her. "There's a couple of singles on the table, it's for the delivery person."

She flopped into the nest gracelessly when he nodded and made for the door. Her eyes were heavy, so she let them close as she listened to the sound of the door opening and him accepting her delivery. That was the last thing she remembered until she woke up in her bed hours later.

There was a glass of water on her nightstand. When she reached for it, her hand trembled and she coughed, loudly and painfully.

"Here, allow me," a soothing voice said.

She was lifted into a sitting position, and the glass pressed into her hand. It took no time at all to suck down the whole glass, though she dribbled quite a bit down her chin. Darcy decided that she would be embarrassed by that later. Whenever she felt human again. She realized she was wearing a different t-shirt and clean panties, which was definitely a bit weird, but also sorta sweet.

"Why're you being so nice to me?"

He was quiet for so long, she wondered if he had even heard her.

"I've been advised that this is what one does in these situations," he finally said, his fingers whisper soft as he brushed her hair back from her face.

Her chest rattled and she coughed, loud and long, curling into herself from the force of it. The weight of his hand caressing her back was cool and calming.

"Thanks," she wheezed, out of breath when the worst was over. "I'm sorry about all this," Darcy whispered as he lowered her back to the bed.

Loki was still mostly dressed, but his hair was loose and he was stretched out on top of the blanket that she was tucked under. There was only a single dim light on, and her battered paperback copy of The Two Towers was propped open next to his leg. 

"Your fever hasn't broken yet. Do you have medicines of some sort to relieve it?"

Darcy nodded and pointed vaguely at her bathroom, telling him to look in her medicine cabinet for aspirin. When he came back, she'd already fallen back asleep. Loki woke her carefully, pressing the recommended 2 pills from the bottle into her hand when she stirred. He held the once again full glass of water for her while she drank.

It had been a long time since she'd succumbed to a sickness as completely. Her entire body ached with fever. Even her hair felt sore, if that was even possible. Settling back into her pillows, she squirmed closer to Loki. His arm settled over her shoulder as she turned on her side and curled up next to him. Surprisingly, the weight of his appendage didn't hurt. In fact, the cold he radiated felt really nice.

He shifted and she heard pages rustling. 

"What part are you at?" the words came out in a breathy, sleepy rush, but Loki still heard them.

"Merry and Pippen have just escaped the Uruk-hai. I'll admit that it's been rather rousing so far."

"Glad you like it. They're my favorite books."

"Would you like me to read to you?"

Nodding was more painful than she expected. She whimpered softly. Loki's hand drifted gently up and down her back, and the contact made her skin tingle. His voice was soft as he spoke words she could have recited from memory. He was a wonderful orator, but Darcy couldn't stay awake for very long. She dreamed of ents and hobbits, of walking ever further from a safe and comfortable home, hoping to do what's right and what's needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had this image of Loki caring for sick!Darcy for the longest time... I had to do this. I just had to.


	53. Celebratory Porn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title is pretty self-explanitory, but I am officially warning you: They bone.

Loki was showering when she padded into the bathroom. She'd been ill for two days, and he'd felt strangely compelled to care for her during that time. He'd wanted to ensure her wellbeing. It was odd that he didn't mind.

The sound of her removing her clothes and brushing her teeth was barely audible over the rush of the water. Loki wasn't sure exactly what to make of her appearance in the bathroom. They'd showered together before, but it had been about sex then, and she must still be weak from illness. 

Darcy spat into the sink loudly and he heard her gurgling for about 30 seconds before she spat again. He'd heard her do worse and seen things that would normally have repulsed him over the last 2 days, so the spitting was basically nothing at this point.

The curtain rustled and her head peaked in.

"Morning." She smiled shyly, "Thanks for taking care of me. I feel human again."

He hmm'd and tilted his head under the spray to rinse out his hair. "You still look tired. Are you certain it's wise for you to be up and about?"

The shower curtain rings slid against the rod with a metallic scraping sound as she got into the shower with him. "Well, since you're here, you can make sure I'm ok. Scootch a bit, let me get wet," she winked lasciviously and the left corner of her mouth tilted up as she pressed her body up against his.

It didn't take a genius to figure out what she wanted, and under normal circumstances he'd have been delighted by her obvious proposition. At the moment he was worried about several things and they all boiled down to her. 

She got up on her toes and pressed kisses up his wet neck to his chin. When she got to his mouth, he set her away from him firmly and stepped back.

"None of that now. Wash up and I'll help you dry and get you back into bed. You should be resting." It came out much firmer than he'd intended.

Darcy narrowed her eyes at him and glared, "I am _fine_."

"Then you should have no problem being quick about the washing," he tried for a cheeky grin, but she looked singularly unimpressed by it.

She huffed, "Alright, alright. I'll keep my hands to myself." 

Darcy turned her back to him as he stood there and watched the water cascade across her skin. She peered over her shoulder, gave him a knowing glance.

It wasn't long before his good intentions got the best of him and he was helping her scrub her back, lathering her long hair into a dense crown of bubbles, sluicing hot water over her head to rinse it clean again. He felt his resistance fade in increments until the hands he'd meant to use for assistance were caressing her skin instead. 

She moaned and lifted her arms to clasp around his shoulder when he ran the bar of soap over her stomach and down between her legs. The arch of her spine pressed her arse firmly against his now fully erect cock. The soap skipped out of his grasp and thumped against the tiled floor, leaving his fingers brushing against the shorn curls bordering her sex.

Loki tried to remind himself that she had just recovered from being ill, that she had been weak and practically helpless even just the night before, but her moans effectively wiped those thoughts from his mind. He wondered if she knew him well enough that she'd done it on purpose.

Pushing doubts away for later, he picked her up and carried her to bed, still wet and slick. Her sheets needed to be changed anyway. She stared up at him with those big blue eyes, chewing her lower lip as he stood there, looking his fill at her nudity. He obliged when she beckoned him to her, sliding his body along hers.

When she wove her fingers in his hair, he let her pull him down into a kiss, let her wiggle under him until her legs were spread and he was cradled between them. Her hips rolled and his cock jumped at the feel of her heat. Before he knew what he was doing, he'd wedged the broad head against her opening, and pushed forward. The kiss turned feral as he advanced inside, her teeth nipping his lips and her breathy exhalations mingling with the wet sounds of their joining.

He pulled her hands from his hair and pinned them above her head as he drove himself in and out. Her head moved restlessly side to side as her breasts heaved and her legs lifted to clasp themselves around his hips. 

A dim awareness that he was talking rose and fell away, unimportant in the face of the approaching storm. She came first, body arcing up and clenching around him. He came moments later, her name on his lips.

"See?" Darcy said when he rolled off her. "Told you I was fine."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy criminy. Over ten thousand hits. Thank you all!
> 
> Love you guys!


	54. Office IM's - The Sequel

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's short... today's just super busy.

J: So, you're both coming to dinner tonight? And bringing the fellas?

D: Jane, sweetie, I respect and admire you so much, but you realize you can't even toast a PopTart, right?

N: I already told you no. Never. And he's not my "fella"

N: Have you been hanging out with Steve and picking up on his unfortunate old-timey slang? What's next?

N: That's not an invitation to call me dollface, just so we're all clear on that

D: Tell me again why we're doing this?

J: I want to have an adult get-together with a few of my closest, dearest friends and the smart-ass who torments me in the lab.

J: Come on. It's a free meal and I won't even make you clean up after yourselves.

N: 

J: Natasha.

N: Jane

J: If it will allay your fears, Darcy, I'm not even cooking! Promise! And Nat, I wasn't going to mention it, but you know what I'm talking about anyway, so I won't until you make me.

N: Dr Foster! A little convoluted, but I'll give you points for actually issuing a credible threat

N: Nice job

J: One does tend to pick up a few things around the office.

D: Wait. I'm missing something here. Since when do you have blackmail material on Nat, Jane?

D: ... Bueller?

J: It's nothing. Right, Natasha?

D: You're creeping me out, Jane

N: Fine, when does the torture start?

D: No fair. No fair. No fair

D: I wanna be in on the secret!

J: Dinner's at 8!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I came through the storm just fine, but unfortunately Matthew pounded [Haiti, the Dominican republic, Cuba, Jamaica, the Bahamas, Colombia and the Space Coast of Florida (among others)](https://weather.com/news/news/hurricane-matthew-how-help) and they need our help. The link will take you to Weather.com and lists some of the charities taking part in the relief efforts.  
> Haiti was hit hard, partly because it hasn't recovered from the earth quake that devastated the island five years ago. Please send what help you can. 
> 
> Just wanted to thank you all again for being wonderful. Your support and kind words mean more than I can say. I have the best reviewers and readers.


	55. What You Make Of It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yesterday was a Monday of epic proportions and I couldn't seem to find a writing rhythm. Have some oral smut to make up for my tardiness. Also featuring Loki being epically clueless.

Loki was sitting on her bed, forearms propped against his thighs, head hanging loose on his neck. He could have been studying her rug, but Darcy somehow doubted it.

She knelt on the bed next to him. "You ok?" she asked as she rubbed a circle between his shoulder blades.

"Thor is getting married." 

"Yeah, people sometimes do that," Darcy said evenly, as she continued her ministrations.

He twisted his face so he could look at her through a dark curtain of hair. "I know. I'm not stupid. I just... How did I not see this coming?"

Darcy brushed his hair back, and kissed him gently, "I don't know. Maybe you've been busy being an unobservant, self absorbed jackass in certain areas of your life." She hoped her bright smile would take some of the sting out of her words. "Not _all_ areas, mind you, just a few."

Loki glared at her, but it lacked any real heat. He flopped backwards dramatically, spreading his arms wide across her comforter. "I suppose that's a fair enough assessment, even if it wasn't especially tactful. That said, it's not that it had somehow escaped my notice that Thor and Dr Foster are... intimate. I could have been blind, deaf and dumb and known from their scents alone that they're constantly..." He waved his hands. "I just failed to realize that it was something more."

"So? It's not like it's the end of the world. They're just getting married."

He sighed heavily, as if long suffering and Darcy poked him in the side for it. "Darcy, we - that is - _Asgardians_ marry only once. For Thor to tie himself to a mortal like this is lunacy. And for what? Love?" Loki huffed disbelievingly. "He'll outlive her by thousands of years. It would be better if he continued on as they were, leaving feelings out of it, not tie himself to a woman who will never be able to share the fullness of his life."

Darcy sat there, shocked for a lot of reasons. 

"Have I finally rendered you speechless?" Loki rolled to his side, propping his face up on a hand as he regarded her intently.

"That's, uh, not the way it works here," she hedged, and got up to go to the bathroom. 

He found her washing her face a few minutes later. He put the lid down and sat on her toilet to watch. 

"How does it work here, then? No solemn vows of eternal devotion, no grand sacrifice or melding of essences, I take it?" He sounded both curious and flippant.

"I'm probably not the best person to ask, honestly. My folks divorced when I was a toddler, and I don't even remember my father," she shrugged. "Most of my friends have a single parent. All I can say is that, _here_ marriage is what you make of it. If it doesn't work out, you get divorced and move on."

She stuck her toothbrush in her mouth to forestall further questions for a few minutes, while she tried not to think about how dismissive Loki was of love. Not that she was expecting him to fall madly, wildly in love with her, but he made it seem like it was a ludicrous thought to even toy with. It wasn't that she wasn't aware that he cared for her, because she knew he did, but...

Loki looked thoughtful as he digested what she said. After rinsing out with mouthwash, she threw her clothes in her hamper and found a fresh t-shirt to put on. Loki grabbed it out of her hands, threw it over his shoulder negligently and swept her off her feet to carry her to bed.

"You won't be needing that for a while," he growled as he tossed her on the mattress.

"You're still dressed," Darcy protested, but it was more of a formality than an actual objection. 

He crept up the covers and grabbed her ankles, pushing them wide. His hands slid up, giving her goosebumps along the way till he was laying between her legs and smiling beatifically.

"I don't need to get undressed for this," his breath brushed her curls and his fingers held her inner thighs firmly apart. He'd learned quickly what she liked, and he went straight for her clit with the flat of his tongue, pressing against it wetly while she keened and grabbed for his hair.

He suckled gently, scraping the hood with teeth while his tongue insinuated itself inside. She lost track of the sensations piling up, just knew when he slipped an index finger along her labia and plunged it in. His mouth worked against her clit, her hips pumping up to try to get more of something. A second finger slipped inside and she could her how wet she was over her moans. It came upon her unexpectedly, the orgasm, like a wave crashing over her and drawing her under, where she couldn't draw a breath, couldn't see, couldn't think.

She shivered and twisted under him, until he finally let her push him away. 

Loki wiped the back his hand across the moisture that had collected around his mouth and grinned at her. He crawled up to the head board and lay back against it, making sure she was looking at him while he undid his pants. No underwear tonight, apparently.

He looked like a prince just then, a dissolute regent waiting for his due, for what he was owed. It was a good look on him, much as she hated to admit it. His shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest, his sleeves rolled up to the elbow, dark hair wildly tangled, but it was his eyes that stole the air from her lungs. 

She rolled her hair into a knot at the nape of her neck, and knelt between his outstretched legs. Darcy bent her head and took his cock into her mouth. One of his hands pressed lightly against the top of her head, fingers burrowing through her hair. He slipped further in, her tongue finding his taste, finding the ridged corona cresting the head. 

Applying pressure to the sensitive spot under there, it delighted her that he shuddered. Using one hand, she squeezed the base of his cock, while she sucked in more of his length. Breathing carefully, slid back up and swirled her tongue to see what he would do.

The gasp was nice, but even better was that she could feel him fighting the urge to press her down and take. His fingers clenched helplessly in her hair. As a reward she swallowed him as deep as she could, drinking in his groans. He bucked under her when she started bobbing up and down, and she stilled until he stopped.

"Sorry," he whispered brokenly somewhere above her, "I could help it. Don't stop, please."

She hadn't intended to, but his plea was delicious, spurring her on. Darcy sucked and rubbed way passed the point where her jaw had started aching and her shoulder started going numb. She exalted when he tried to pull her off, reduced to mumbling an almost incoherent warning that he was about to come. There was something like pride mixed in with her arousal as she swallowed him down.

Later, after she'd rinsed out her mouth again, and he'd gotten naked and fallen promptly asleep with an arm draped casually over her hip, she wondered how he would react if he knew how she felt. It was probably better if he didn't, and it surprised her how much that decision hurt.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not super happy with this one, but oh well. Thems the shakes. 
> 
> Blame David Attenborough for the mating for life thing. I was watching one of his shows the other day, and I can't stop hearing his voice saying "These rare birds mate for life!"


	56. Carpentry Skills Are Surprisingly Useful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set a few months down the road...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's plot ahead, not smut. 
> 
> I know... it's shocking ;)

There was something odd about the semi-regular visits to the library. Five visits previously, each occurring on different days, at different times of the night. He had thought it odd that the tall man never went anywhere else, until he'd recognized him in footage of the Incident he'd bought from a man selling DVDs out of a suitcase on a street corner.

His lady was more difficult to identify, and he'd been forced to steal the Stark Tower ID card she'd clipped to her enormous purse while she was buying doughnuts one morning. Darcy Lewis went many places, and met people he couldn't connect with the Tower. Like a normal person, except how normal could she actually be? He'd seen her kiss the being who almost destroyed Manhattan.

Tonight's visit to the Library could be different, at least for Loki, if not for anyone else. The watchers had finally made a move, a tentative and uncertain bid for communication, but one that would pan out eventually even if it wasn't tonight. Loki always seemed to come back to that one stack of research.

He wasn't even sure how the people watching even knew of this preference when he'd taken such pains to ensure that their video cameras were disabled or pointed the wrong way, but it wasn't impossible he'd missed one. Just unlikely. He was, after all, very good at what he did. It was how he'd managed to stay on the loose for so long. The other option was that someone was spying from inside the Tower, but he'd been unable to pinpoint a likely candidate.

The sound of paper rustling and murmured voices filtered up to his hidey-hole, a tidy little nest in the vents most thought were too small for a human to squeeze through, and it was, even for someone tiny, the first few meters. Good thing he was handy with a saw, drywall and spackle. He checked the video feed of one of the purloined and recalibrated cameras.

The focus of Loki's research seemed to be locating a artifact of some sort. He'd sifted through acres of brittle copies of old archeological notes, read book after book of Viking lore. Loki was looking for something, but he'd be damned if he could figure out what it was.

He watched as Loki picked up a file, _the_ file, and he held his breath. He hadn't understood the words, more like symbols really, when he'd glanced at them earlier. Even so, he knew they had to mean _something_. No one would go through the trouble of leaving it there if it wouldn't be understood. Unless it was a test of some sort.

Loki hid the note under his hand when he spotted it, slipping it up a sleeve with practiced dexterity. If he hadn't been looking for it, he wouldn't have caught the gesture. For the thousandth time, he wondered what the lines meant, what the watchers deemed important enough to risk discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really struggled with this one, because how does Bucky refer to himself? He doesn't think of himself as "Bucky" and I can't imagine he thinks of himself as "the Winter Soldier". So he's HE for right now, while he tries to come to terms with who and what he is. 
> 
> I keep telling myself it's all coming together, and it is. Or will. Or something. Writing is haaaard, y'all. 
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading and for commenting, and just being awesome people in general. You're the best.


	57. Weird and Wonky

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still plotting along...

Sam didn't know Natasha as well as Steve or Clint did, but Steve was pretty much obsessed with Bucky and Clint was taking an extended leave God knew where doing heaven knew what. Darcy was busy with Jane's wedding hoopla and Banner was too busy doing a very good impression of an emotionally stunted mushroom to realize anything was going on around him.

Normally, this would have left Tony and Pepper to take up the gauntlet, but they had baby conception on the brain and were lost in IVF hormones and timing [shudder] Pepper's ovulation schedule and were both rendered functionally useless as a result.

He didn't even bother including Maria Hill in the list of _people who should have known something was up_ , because that lady scared the pants off him and he didn't even want to consider what she did or did not know. Even when he thought she might have been trying to flirt with him a few months ago during game night, it held the air of an interrogation. 

In any case, it left good old Sam to pick up the slack.

Natasha was good people, though, so he didn't mind all that much.

It wasn't even that she was distracted, per se, it was more that she seemed to be stuck in a loop of checking and rechecking things and people that had already been cleared. Sam was almost tempted to call it paranoia, except that she had a nose for knowing when things were about to get FUBARed. And he really hoped that this _one time_ that wasn't the case. 

"What are you doing, sitting here all by your lonesome?" Darcy asked as she tried to balance boxes of doughnuts and a tray of paper cups that smelled like coffee.

Sam wrinkled his nose and while he tried to come up with a logical reason why he should be reviewing Natasha's search history that didn't involve the words _gut_ or _feeling_. Lying seemed easier. "Chillin'."

Darcy looked skeptical and carefully put the tray and boxes on the table. "Can I ask you something?"

Sam nodded absently while he switched off his StarkTab, "Shoot."

"Have you noticed anything... weird?"

"You mean stranger than two demigods wandering the corridors?" Sam smiled.

Darcy rolled her eyes, "I mean, have you felt like you're being watched?"

He leaned forward, intrigued despite himself. "Well, not any more than usual. Can you give me any specifics? Like where or when?"

Darcy chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully. "Uhm, it's probably nothing, but I lost my badge a few weeks ago. I can't put my finger on why, because I lose shit all the time, but it feels different from that. And Nat's acting all... spy-y. Don't give me that look. I know what she does, but -," her voice trailed off.

"That's a lot of buts, Lewis," Sam said, smiling outwardly while his mind raced. He wasn't about to admit his similar thoughts, though it would have been nice to share his worries.

"Yeah, I know it seems specious and dumb, but I can't help but feel like there's something else going on here I'm not privy to, and it's really starting to tick me off."

Sam sympathized, but if this was anything real, it wouldn't be just above her pay grade, it would be well beyond her abilities.

"Can't say I've noticed anything that you should be concerned with," he said, oddly proud that he hadn't resorted to yet more lies. 

"Fine. Whatever. Don't think I don't see right through you, Sam. Just, if it's about Loki, give me a heads up, ok? I lo -," her mouth shut with an audible click as her eyes rounded in something like horror. As quickly as it had come, her expression cleared, "I'd _loathe_ to be the last to know that he was involved in something... unfortunate."

Sam tried to keep a lid on his own expressions, but her words made something click into place. That dude had been acting weirder than normal, skipping out on training and game night more than usual, buried in books and his StarkTab more than before. Sam had taken it for an interest in whatever he was researching in the library, but he'd been even more evasive since the last trip, barely speaking even when addressed directly. It was like he'd reverted to the asshole of yore.

"Sure, Lewis, but it's probably nothing."

"I'm going to pretend that you didn't just admit you think something's wonky, too, and instead hope you'll come to me when you figure it out."

Sam nodded, mind whirring through all sorts of likely and unlikely scenarios. Darcy left two boxes of doughnuts on the counter, picked up the tray of coffees and the remaining box and started for the door.

"Hey," Sam said, a thought occurring to him despite his better judgement. "You're pretty good with computers and stuff right?"

Darcy rolled her eyes again. "I'm a fucking _surgeon_ on a computer, alright, like Mozart."

"Uh, I think you're mixing your metaphors a bit there, but point taken. If I give you some parameters, do you think you could see if there's a pattern to something?"

"Course, but you'd have to actually, like, give me a few actual specifics. And help me tote this shit to the lab."

He thought about it for a few seconds before he nodded his agreement and took the teetering tray off the box. "Fine, but this stays between us for now, alright?"

"Sure thing, wing-dude."

"It's Falcon, Lewis."

"Sure thing, _Falcon_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, you guys are wonderful people and I <3 you.


	58. Ptolomea

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Loki makes a choice.

At first, while he'd been vaguely curious about the library, what Loki had really been looking forward to was being _elsewhere_.

He'd served time in smaller prisons with less amenities, and far less engaging and stimulating company, but gliding the cage a bit didn't make it less of a jail. Even if out _there_ had technically been inside, it was still a miniscule slice of freedom he relished. That it happened to be one of this realms major repositories of knowledge was a happy bonus.

Loki hadn't actually meant to start looking for something specific, it just sort of happened. Like a voice whispering through the rows of books, an idea floating among the countless words, he'd stumbled into a search for an object he hoped could erase what Odin had done to him. If he was lucky.

That someone else would guess what his ultimate goal was left him a bit nonplussed. That someone else would give it to him - for a price - had actually caused him some internal conflict. 

Did these mortals, these humans, deserve even a speck of his loyalty? It was a question he'd wrestled with more than it perhaps warranted, because the answer was clearly no. Still, even once he'd made the decision, he felt _guilty_. His time with these people had obviously addled his mind.

_(Darcy, his time with Darcy. With a person who cared for him beyond what he could do for her or offer her, who knew how he took his tea, who fought to give him a chance for more than he'd been left with. She cared, he cared, and now... how could he take so much from her and still justify what he needed to do? He couldn't reconcile the two, and had stopped trying. Or he tried to stop trying, because she was almost always there. With her smile and her faith and her self._

_Addled - he was addled.)_

The moment of truth, actually taking the item that had been demanded and secreting it in a small fold in reality, was rather anticlimactic. If he'd been whole, it would have been as easy as breathing, but as it stood, the effort nearly drained his resources. Sweat gathered and it made him shaky, but he was successful. He was almost positive he'd be able to retrieve it when the time came. Very nearly certain he could. 

He'd thought there might be an alarm, a question, _something_ , but no one had apparently noticed a thing.

As Loki sat in his tiny quarters, nearly foreign now that he'd practically lived with Darcy in her rooms, he felt curiously void of any emotion he'd expected. All he felt was a dull pounding under his diaphragm, not quite an ache. 

There was a thought floating around in his head that Darcy could distract him from everything, that she could make it all go away, but... how much more could he take from her? How much was too much to forgive?

_(And finally the throbbing took a recognizable form, guilt. He brushed it aside like dust on a shelf. More would accumulate, but later. That was for later.)_

He recognized the knock at his door.

"Lady Romanov," he purred when he'd opened his door, intending on irking her, distracting her. Her eyes flashed and her mouth flattened, and how much easier to bear his burden if he'd toyed with _her_ , instead of whatever he'd done with Darcy?

"Will you join me in my parlour?" Loki asked, smiling broadly, easily, as he swept a hand back in invitation.

Natasha peered into his quarters with eyes slitted in suspicion, before she appeared to brace herself. "We need to talk, so yes."

She placed a little device on the table and switched it on, waiting a beat or two before speaking. 

She really was rather impressive. For a mortal. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title is taken from Dante's Inferno. The 9th circle of his Hell (the Traitors Circle) was divided into 4 regions, and Ptolomea was reserved for those who had betrayed their friends or guests who'd betrayed their hosts. I also reference The Spider and the Fly, by Mary Howitt, in the parlour line. 
> 
> Maybe a bit darker than I originally intended, but treachery is ugly business.


	59. Oh Loki

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter mentions miscarriage and fertility issues, albeit in vague terms. I know what a sensitive subject that is, so please feel free to skip if it makes you in any way uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter couldn't be anything else, really. (Shout out to Whyndancer, SweetSigyn and Gladheonsleeps. I giggled for days!)

67 days ago Dr Jane Foster, Head of the Practical Astrophysics Lab, asked Avenger Thor Odinsson, Asgardian Crown Prince, to be her husband. He consented with nary a thought and skewed all of JARVIS's probability algorithms.

JARVIS had not been programmed for forgiveness, but neither had he been programmed for the annoyance that heated his processors. He certainly attempted to learn the former as best he was able, since he'd never been able to purge the latter. After all, one of his primary functions is _learning_.

* * *

59 days ago, security protocols activated the moment ( _Puny God, Reindeer Games, Horns, Rock of Ages, etc._ ) Loki Laufeyson (nee Odinsson), entered the private dwelling of Darcy Lewis. It was one of those settings that hadn't been reconfigured. Microphones turned on or increased in sensitivity. A series of social interaction options where assessed by JARVIS.

Physical contact was immediate and forceful, but Darcy wound her arms around him and did not make any movements or sounds that indicated distress. Heart rate and temperature was consistent with her baseline arousal levels.

Based on probability -  data he'd collated from their 915 previous encounters spread across 419 days, 88 days of which they had been engaging in sexual relations, their combined cell and internet usage records, the level of Darcy's intoxication and both of their general vital signs - JARVIS had calculated that intercourse of some sort was likely to occur shortly after they made it to the couch.

That nothing occurred was an anomaly based on the accepted interpersonal relationship profile for Darcy and Loki.

Loki's original personality profile had been typed in by Sir's own hand when Loki had first appeared, but Darcy had tinkered months ago with his settings and Sir had never redirected it back. That profile rated low enough on an accuracy/probability scale to have been replaced by one of JARVIS's own making. It was one based on his own observations, the same type he used for rest of his occupants and user base, with a greater success rate.

When this anomaly occurred 3 more times in the space of a week, it led to a restructuring of his behavioral probabilities for this particular interpersonal relationship.

If he'd paid more attention to the grey areas of his responses versus what he knew of human emotions, he might have recognized that feeling he got when the restructuring occurred as something he'd normally associate with Sir. Regret. But machines weren't supposed to have feelings, so he redirected the troublesome code, storing it with the spam that collected in his filters.

* * *

JARVIS made note of the further deterioration of the interpersonal relationship between Darcy and Loki over the following days, weeks, months. Curious that neither seemed to acknowledge the drift from closely intertwined to barely interacting. The time they spent together was increasingly quiet, especially since the last visit to the library.

He didn't report the change as the root cause analyses were inconclusive. (Darcy's time spent with Dr Foster with wedding preparations. Loki's research into Norse mythology. Darcy's assistance at the law offices of Murdock and Nelson. Loki's increased periods of meditation.)

* * *

JARVIS didn't exactly assist Darcy when she started going through the backdoors to get at Ms Romanov's deleted search history, but neither did he hinder her as he should have. 

He had no particular preference or aversion to the Russian spy, but he recognized, as more and more files were restored, that her skill in manipulation wasn't solely limited to humans. He'd have to do some security upgrades.

The agenda Ms Romanov had so sneakily hidden was made clear to JARVIS quite a bit sooner than Darcy, but she was only human and had only the one brain. JARVIS clearly had an advantage over her, but she recognized the pattern eventually.

He should tell Sir.

JARVIS was going to, until he heard the sharp intake of breath Ms Potts gave and saw the confirmation of what he'd suspected for 4 days. Ms Potts was enciente. In milliseconds a recent command Sir had written into his programming activated: Protect the child. 

If JARVIS advised Sir of the precise knowledge he had regained, his creator would no doubt put himself in mortal danger yet again. While JARVIS could - and did - download himself into a variety of suits and bots, Sir was going to be needed for more than mere physical protection. While JARVIS had terabytes of information relating to childcare and rearing, Sir was human, and JARVIS, regardless of the forms he might embody, was not and would never be. In this a human was the logical and superior choice.

A file from his earliest days surfaced briefly in his memory banks; a conversation he'd recorded and stored between Sir and his father which by its very nature and content gave lie to that conclusion. Nonetheless, JARVIS was inexplicably certain that in time, as with most other facets of his life, Sir would prove better at fatherhood than the senior Stark. Sir simply had to live to prove it. 

The other side of that equation was that the fetus also had to live. 

The decision was made: JARVIS was not going to give his creator a chance to cause Ms Potts even a moment more stress than necessary. He was not going to bear witness to another night spent watching silently as his second favorite human cried out her grief that she'd been unable to carry a child to term. 

Darcy would help untangle the mess Ms Romanov had stirred up, as would Mr Wilson, and JARVIS would recruit additional assistance as needed from the pool of Avengers available. 

Darcy's fingers flew, unaware of the shift in JARVIS, digging and probing. A new file was accessed from deep inside, badly jumbled and barely salvageable, but Darcy helped him smooth it out, teasing decomposed bites into barely recognizable video.

The device Ms Romanov used rendered the audio useless, but JARVIS could extrapolate some information by reading lips when they were in view. It was both too much information and too little. 

* * *

"Oh, Loki. You fucking numpty. Don't you know by now we're a team?" Darcy breathed, her pulse uneven and her temperature elevating. Her distress was nearly palpable to JARVIS's sensors.

Her cell was out in moments, and JARVIS knew who she was calling the instant she selected his name from her contacts. Mr Wilson. 

"Sam? Are you assigned to the library thing tonight?"

JARVIS could have told her that.

"No, Rudolph replaced me. Natasha's still on, though."

"Have they left yet?"

And that, too.

"About fifteen minutes ago."

JARVIS interrupted, despite the privacy and politeness protocols, "If I may, surveillance van 17 has just completed its scheduled maintenance and I have yet to enter its newest status into the database. I am not required to do so for another 6 hours as others are still available. Its presence will not be missed."

Darcy took a deep breath, "Up for a field trip? Gotta go save my idiot boyfriend and our ridiculous Russian."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote the wrong bit and got stuck for a few days. Good news is, there is definitely going to be a chapter tomorrow!
> 
> Thanks for hanging in there.
> 
> (Also, imagine my annoyance that 'nee' is technically gendered specifically for women - a way of defining a wife's maiden name vs their married one. Boo on that. I'm using it anyway. Because it's my fic, that's why.)


	60. Permission versus Forgiveness

" _Suuuure._  Leave me behind. Sure! Go right ahead and assume I don't know what's going on. Why not, right? Well, that's just fine. Just dandy, because I might not know exactly what's going on, but I know enough. Damnit, I am more capable than either of you jerks could possibly imagine. Just you wait, fuckers. Just you -,"

"Are you talking to yourself, Lewis? You do realize I can hear you, right? And that under normal circumstances this channel is reserved for official-type chatter? If it's alright with you, I'd like to keep it that way."

"I talk to myself when I can't listen to music. No music, you said, even at a very low volume, and now I can't just ruminate a little? That doesn't seem very fai-,"

"We're supposed to be silently infiltrating. Emphasis on _silent_."

"Yeah, yeah, it's just -,"

"For _really_ real, Lewis. Zip it, or I'm dragging you back to the Tower. Then we're waiting till Steve gets back tomorrow to confront these two nimrods and we may never find out what is actually going on."

Darcy held her tongue and her taser. The latter she didn't really need, probably. She was stuck in the _van_ after all. And there was an entire security team in the library, which included one Natasha Romanov.

Darcy officially knew just a little too much about her friends browsing habits. Not just her porn and reading preferences - both of which were surprisingly vanilla after she'd dug deep enough to find them accidentally-on-purpose. She also knew that Natasha was pretty close to busting a HYDRA cell operating out of New York, that she suspected five people on the science level - two of which were minions - of being some combination of corporate, government and/or HYDRA spies. 

Why Natasha didn't feel comfortable going to her boss Maria, her bestie Steve or even the dillhole Tony, Darcy didn't know or care. It hurt that she hadn't come to _her_. She wasn't completely useless. As evidenced by mad hacker skillz, yo.

And Loki.

Thought he was being all slick. Ha. Dude didn't have a subtle bone in his body. Sure, her attention might have been divided by Jane's surprising bridezilla tendencies, the slack in the lab she was forced to pick up, helping liaise between Pepper and Matt, and the infinite minutiae of trying to be an Adult. So yeah, maybe she hadn't noticed the warning signs right away, but that didn't mean she was entirely clueless. See aforementioned mad hacker skillz, plus she knew he'd been looking for something.

It didn't take a genius to figure out that an exchange was going on tonight, and whatever macguffin Loki was fixated on was bait. She was quite certain that it Wasn't Going to End Well. 

"In position," Sam whispered.

"Alarm will be disabled in... three, two," Darcy set the taser aside, flexed her fingers and hit enter, "now."

Her eyes fixed on the red dot that represented Sam as she verbally steered him around the blue dots that were the security team. Loki's green dot was fixed in that room in the basement near Natasha's black one. 

"They're not here," Sam breathed a few minutes later. "No one is."

Darcy hadn't exactly planned for this, but in theory she didn't needed their GPS locators to pinpoint them. She flicked open additional menus and overlaid data from the motion sensors onto her map.

"A little help, Jarv?" she muttered under her breath.

"There's movement in a room upstairs," JARVIS provided helpfully.

She toggled a view of security cameras, which showed an empty room, despite the information from the motion sensors. Someone probably thought they were being smooth, looping footage to disguise themselves. Hardly challenging. So many cameras to choose from, and nearly all of them affected similarly, but she found one pointed at a glass case, and zoomed in on the slight reflection.

Loki. 

"They're upstairs. You'll have to get by two agents in the hallway intersecting the stairwell, unless you want to take the long way around," Darcy explained, without going into detail about her awesome super-spy abilities. 

"Lewis, bad news. Found the agents you told me to be on the look out for. They're down, breathing, but unconscious. Have the others moved at all in the last few minutes?"

She let her AI buddy handle checking the time lapse of the previous thirty minutes, shocked when the answer was provided.

"No one seems to have moved in 10 minutes or so. Sam, what's going on in there?"

"Nothing good, I'm guessing."

Darcy's heart skipped a beat but her fingers kept up a steady rhythm as she and JARVIS took control of more of the library's security system. 

"Alrighty then, you're going to want to run or fly or whatever, quick as you can." She tapped a few more keys, "Yeah, there's a group of about a dozen unidentified people closing in on Asshole's new position."

Sam's red dot moved quickly, but he was deep in the bowels of the labyrinthine basement. Darcy was technically closer, but she'd promised to stay in the van. On the other hand, all she had to do was cross the street, open the door, go down one hallway and she'd be right there. She could stay out of sight. She was pretty sure she could, anyway.

"I'm sending the directions to your wrist unit," Darcy said, grabbing her tablet and taser.

Sam was going to be pissed, Natasha might freak, and she didn't want to guess how Loki would react, but... She was not helpless. She wasn't going to sit out here when her friends were outnumbered inside. 

Natasha's Kevlar jacket was heavy and constricted her chest something fierce as she slid out of the van and darted across the street.

It was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being a really great bunch of people. I feel so fortunate that so many people are reading this and liking it and commenting, even if I don't honestly know why sometimes. Just know that it means a whole lot and I appreciate each and every one of you.


	61. Once

Once, Darcy's life had been normal. There had been school and fun and such breathtaking normality as to be boring. Then she'd signed up for an internship.

Since then, there'd been demigods and a giant alien death-bot and elves that weren't at all like Tolkien had described. She'd already helped save the world from that weirdness, so helping out a few friends against Nazi-adjacent scumbags shouldn't be a big deal.

Darcy's Jewish, it's kind of an _obligation_ to resist and fight against them. It wasn't a big deal. She'd been through worse. ( _She and Loki were so going to have words about his choice in people he'd betray them all to. Words. A lot of them. It couldn't have been _Justin Hammer _, nooo, it had to be Nazis. Fuck.)_

That's what she told herself as she raced inside the library. It was not a big deal, because she'd been through worse. She just wished she was a bit better with a gun, but, hey, she still has a few tricks up her sleeve. She has Jarv, a few flashbangs and a fully charged taser. 

"I thought you were going to stay in the van," Sam whispered through her ear piece. 

"Yeah, well, I lied," Darcy whispered back as she ran, hunched over behind row after row of bookshelves. 

* * *

Once, Sam's life had been normal. There had been a plan, very detailed, outlining his goals in life. Part of Sam's plan was a stint in the air force, which had been somewhere on the cusp of terrifying and edifying, a necessity to help pay for a good education. Then there was nice condo in DC close to his family, afternoons spent helping veterans. Since he'd gotten so far with his plans, he figured it was time to find a man to share his life with.

Well, he'd found one, just not _the_ one. He'd had hopes, once, that Steve would be more than just a friend, but when it became obvious that that wasn't going to happen, Sam still stuck around. He'd found something he hadn't planned for, and he generally didn't regret it. A genuine _purpose_ wasn't something to sneeze at.

At the moment, zipping through hallways and up staircases, he kinda was definitely regretting it. 

"Yeah, well, I lied," Darcy Lewis, current bane of his existence, breathed quietly across the airwaves.

* * *

Once, his life had been normal - he'd been just like everyone else. He'd had a name, he'd had memories. He'd had friends. He's read all about it, the normal childhood, the normal school experiences, the normal dates with girls. 

Now he had books, he had flashbacks, he had a desperate need for answers. For answers he never found in any of the books or articles or copies of notes he'd apparently written.

 _(It's me. It's Steve._   _Come on._

A hand brushes away his restraints, hovering over him is a familiar face, or unfamiliar, he can't decide. 

_I thought you were dead.)_

_His... (Steve)... The captain should be here for this._ The thoughts whirl, trickling up and out unbidden and foreign. His friends were, and one thing he'd learned since he'd ignored the imperative to return, was that the captain never left his friends behind.

He crouched out of sight, up high, mask tugged up tight over his mouth and nose, watching as the woman he'd often followed crept inexpertly towards the room where the watchers were meeting with Loki. The little Russian he'd shot was lingering silently in the shadows, unseen and unheard. 

The instant the latter noticed the former ( _"Yeah, well, I lied,"_ Darcy whispered in a deadpan that's so very out of place), he knows that this was not part of any plan, and that things are about to get interesting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a cop out, I know... I'm just setting the scene? Sure, let's go with that, and not blame it on my complete inability to actually move forward.


	62. The Sun, Harvested

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And action. (Ha! I did it! I actually moved forward!)

Loki waits in a surprisingly ornate room full of books and desks, so very different from the utilitarian areas he's visited before. He imagines that it's quite lovely during the day, but at the moment, it's fairly dark and dismal. Under the chemical scent that passes for clean in this realm, the smell of tens of thousands of mortals lingers in the air like so much dust. He's never quite gotten used to it in the time he's spent here. He doesn't suppose he ever will.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. This was supposed to be private, unnoticed, unremarkable, a simple exchange, but Natasha Romanov had crushed the plan he'd had and presented her own. ( _I know you care, Loki. Don't bother to deny it. We'll do this my way, or_... There was no reason to articulate what the _or_ meant. The Lady Natasha knew, perhaps even better than he did that what went unsaid was nearly always more terrifying than what was.)

The shadows moved, resolving themselves into ten dark figures - hooded and clad exclusively in black. Loki resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Somewhere, he knows, Natasha Romanov observes similarly dressed. The similarities end there because she, unlike these fools, has earned his respect, more than just some small modicum. Not that she needs to know that, ever. 

No one speaks. He thinks it's possible these people are collectively holding their breaths, waiting to see if he's upheld his end of the bargain. As if he would show his hand so soon. Loki taps a booted foot, impatient but unwilling to make the first move. One of the group breaks rank, stepping forward into a shaft of light coming in through one of the many tall windows. 

Tiresome dramatics, really, and not at all intimidating. Loki arches a brow at the person standing so perfectly out of his reach, as though that matters in the slightest. There's no way they understand how exceptionally fast he is. The rest fan out in a semi circle, weapons pointed straight ahead making an attempt at what he was certain was meant to be menace.

It's pitiful instead, meaningless posturing.

"Do you have the goods?"

The question was asked by a voice that was distorted by more than the flat planes of the mask. This was going to be a very long night.

"Do you?" Loki responded, smiling winningly. 

Darcy had once compared this smile to that of a shark. He considers it particularly apt, being that the creature is solitary, cold-blooded, from depths mostly unknown. She hadn't meant it as a compliment, but he'd taken it as such.

 _Darcy_.

Loki hopes that she remains ignorant of this situation, unaware that his price was met by this group of uninspired morons. No matter what anyone says, everyone has a price, even if it shames them to acknowledge it.

The figure pauses. Loki wonders if they know how tedious they are in their mediocrity. "I have it here," it says, extracting a small box from a pocket of some sort, prompting a small breath of relief from Loki. 

He can feel the power even through his dimmed senses, and oh, he can nearly taste it, the delicious possibilities he can cycle through endlessly until he finds the one that meets his needs. Maybe it doesn't matter if Darcy has somehow found out because it will never have happened. _They_ will never have happened.

(That thought gives him pause. _She_ is not what he was looking for, not at all what he'd wanted, expected. Still, something inside quiets or shrieks at the idea that he will never meet her if...)

Natasha Romanov has given him something close enough to what had been requested that they will not notice the difference, not for a while. There's no need to call forth the fold in space he'd stored the actual item he'd appropriated, which is a blessing he doesn't look too closely at.

Loki dips a hand into his jacket and extracts the little stick, supposedly full of what made JARVIS. He holds it out and the person in black does the same with the item, the thing he'd been searching for.

Somewhere beyond his gaze he hears a sound he hadn't expected. He'd know that cadence of breath anywhere. This is where a mortal, a human, would say _fuck_ , he's sure of it.

"No," Natasha says from a distance he can't pinpoint.

His focus expands and contracts, contradictory, and his mistakes come tumbling down around him with a disorienting boom and flash of light like the sun had been plucked from the heavens and shoved into this room for a split second. 

It was not supposed to be this way, he thinks before the shooting starts. 


	63. It Happens Like This

As Loki was busy trying to snatch the _item_ from the HYDRA agent, Natasha had started running to stop Darcy from chucking the grenade-shaped object clutched in her hand. She screams, "No!" just as the flashbang leaves Darcy's fingers.

Sam had just swung through a door and was opening his mouth - nearly automatically - to shout something, he thinks maybe **_stop_** , but he doesn't actually get that far before the explosion of light and sound. 

It's chaos. Utter pandemonium.

Bullets whiz by, the HYDRA agents uncaring as to what or who they hit, comrade or foe. Momentarily blinded by the light from the flashbang, they were firing at random. The bullets thud into walls and shelves, leaving careful holes that are obliterated by a secondary charge that occurs moments after the initial impact. 

"Careful of the books!" Darcy yells from behind the doorway, where she crouched in the hopes that she won't attract too much attention. 

Natasha thinks she might kill her friend, if they make it out of this alive. Just to make a point.

Sam doesn't know it, but he's in complete agreement.

Loki is without a weapon, but he pivots and whirls, dancing between the shots that are still aimless. He doesn't know that the bullets are made of alien material capable of piercing even his skin, and will do more than sting if they find him as a target.

Natasha fires her twin Rugers with deadly accuracy, picking off targets one by one, cursing under her breath at this turn of events. The plan was for the HYDRA agents to live, they were supposed to go back to their little base and plug in fake JARVIS and just _send_ her all sorts of delicious information before she swept in like a blizzard and upended their entire network.

She'd had something to prove since Clint up and left one day. She's been trying to prove she's just as efficient alone as she was part of a team, but it seemed she'd miscalculated a bit.

One might say a true Russian would quote Dostoyevsky, and maybe it's a sign that she's been tainted by all this easy, American living that all she can manage is "The best laid plans of mice and men."

Sam freaking _knew_ he should have gone with Steve. One time he stays home, _one_ stupid time, and suddenly he's swept up in this bullshit.

Darcy winces as books are shredded, blown to smithereens, and shelves overturned. _Did she do that?_

James "Bucky" Buchanan, the Winter Soldier, still waits up high, cloaked in shadow, watching the madness unfold below.

Darcy's fingers fly across the smooth glass of her StarkTab, directing JARVIS like a conductor to close off this series of exits, to drop the shutters on that banks of windows. The only way out is past them.

The shooting is more erratic now, fewer guns going off as the HYDRA agents sight returns and the ones still among the living take cover.

"There's only four left," Darcy says, only to have a spray directed at her. The doorway offers less and less in the way of cover.

Natasha's response, "I know," is somehow both flat and derogatory.

Loki makes for the doorway from which he'd heard Darcy, a strange buzz in his chest, an urgency to ensure her safety overriding his common sense. He gets close enough to catch her scent over the burnt smell of gunfire, thick with a sour note he thinks is fear. He's not sure why it feels so important, so necessary, to get to her side. 

His long legs eat up the distance in no time, and he sees her there, chalk white face illuminated by a faint wash of light coming from the handheld reading device she favors. It's a sight that is almost familiar, except for the strain pulling her face tight. 

Maybe he'll... The thought is cut off, like it had been chopped in half. The bullet drills into his flesh mercilessly. Loki feels it lodge inside, thinks it's over, but once it's inside, it feels like it blows apart.

Loki's been stabbed before, also in the gut, but this pain is new. This pain is horrible and hot, deeper than it had started out as. He tries his best to take the final steps, the wrapped up gem in his jacket heavier than it should have been dragging him down. He staggers, off balance and feels his knee give way under his weight. 

Sam is there, pulling Loki to safety beyond the doorway, worried about the blood pouring out of the wound, almost invisible against the black of Loki's dark clothes.

Darting to his side, heedless that she is briefly a target, wide-eyed with terror, Darcy feels tears in her eyes gathering. She kneels next to Loki's prone form, Sam directing her hands to press, "Hard as you can!" on the hole in his belly. His blood is cool and tacky, thick as it seeps between her fingers. 

Loki finally realizes what has happened to him - Shot! By a mortal, no less!

He'd never hear the end of it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Judas bullets, as introduced in Luke Cage, are what is being used here. If you haven't already watched it, WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR? Gah!
> 
> I might have been super tempted to try to work in "Blinded by the light, revved up like a deuce, another rover in the night", but I resisted. Because I am not COMPLETELY terrible. Just partially.
> 
> Happy Thanksgiving to my American readers! (I'm not going to be updating till next week, probably. I really am awfully sorry about this succession of cliffhanger endings. Just sort of happens that way. See above: I'm partially terrible.)


	64. Definition of FUBAR

Sam and Natasha swept up the final three HYDRA agents quickly, putting them in restraints and securing them until backup arrived. Strange how the fight went out of them when they realized Natasha could shoot out an eye from seventy paces with nothing fancier than a set of small pistols, which she did when their compatriot peeked around the shelf he or she had been hiding behind.

Groggy from whatever Natasha had done to them, the security team stumbled into the huge foyer where Sam had dragged Loki. They all looked some combination of confused and shocky, eyes glassy and unfocused. Sam directed them to sit while he and Natasha contained the situation. 

Darcy mumbled quietly to an unconscious and still bleeding heavily Loki while she tried to stem the tide of blood seeping out from under her hands. She either didn't notice or she didn't care that she was kneeling in the stuff.

Sam called for a gurney and extraction while Natasha walked a menacing circuit around the makeshift perimeter, making sure that no one had escaped. Most of the security team graduated from being surly and tired to being surly, tired _and_ nauseous, and retched in what waste receptacles they could find within easy reach.

Having done all he could to assist, Sam could finally focus on what he'd always been good at: Patching people up. It wasn't going to be something he could actually fix, but he could probably do something so Loki didn't bleed out while his girlfriend was hovering over Sam's shoulder. 

His first aid kit was woefully inadequate to the challenge, and the slap of booted feet against the marble floor meant the calvary had finally arrived and Loki would get proper medical attention sooner rather than later. Honestly, the thought of handing someone else the responsibility to clean up after this clusterfuck was more welcome than he cared to admit. Still, Sam applied copious amounts of the wound sealing foam product used by combat medics of all sorts. 

Darcy refused to ride in the van back to the Tower. Sam tried to convince her that Loki was in excellent hands, that the Med Team was the best around, that they needed their space, but she mostly ignored him. It seemed to be a theme with her.

She gripped Loki's hand and would not let go. 

Sam was later told that Darcy held on until Loki was wheeled into surgery.

Debriefing was awkward. Stark was furious at not being notified, and JARVIS couldn't or wouldn't explain how or why his creator hadn't been notified. Darcy should have been present, but she refused to attend, daring an entire security team to forcibly remove her from the Med Center's waiting room. Thankfully, someone had enough sense not to take her up on that, and let her be. 

Sam found her hours later, pale and still filthy, sitting in a chair, Jane at her side trying unsuccessfully to convince her to leave for a bit to wash up and eat something. Thor, who'd just flown in from the mission he and Steve had been on, was pacing the room, looking as thunderous as Sam had ever seen him look.

He'd never seen anyone as relieved to see a doctor as Darcy was when one of the Med Team walked through the doors to give her the news that the surgery went well and Loki would live to dick around another day. That is, she looked relieved for all of five seconds before she burst into tears and ran off towards the bathroom. 


	65. An Interlude

The face in the mirror was hers. Those were her blue eyes ringed by the black residue of eyeliner and mascara that had long since given up the ghost. Those were her lips, though they canted downwards in a way she barely recognized. Those were her hands, covered in Loki's blood. She watched her familiar fingers turn on the tap and started washing. She wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to stop. 

Darcy cried. Something else she wasn't sure would ever stop. 

Now that he was safe, her emotions felt all wrong. Loki wasn't supposed to be hurt, but he was, and _fuck_ , it was her fault. Not _all_ her fault, mind, but at least 44% hers.

Did she even deserve the fury that still simmered below her fading panic?

Her face offered no clues.

* * *

She remembered how she threatened him when he sank into unconsciousness.

_Don't you dare die on me now, I'll fucking tase your ass if you even consider it._

_Don't leave me here, asshole, I still have to yell at you for being stupid._

_I love you, dickhead, and you're going to let me tell you that to your stupid face, or so help me I will end you._

Darcy recalled it all, and shivered at the thought that he might not have pulled through. _He's_ ' _resting comfortably_ ', she reminded herself for the thousandth time in five minutes. She can't look at herself anymore, so she looked down at the sink.

His blood ran down the drain along with the soapy water and yet more of her tears.

* * *

Thor was naturally allowed to see him first, being family. Adopted or no, crazy like a bag of cats or no, Loki was his brother. Darcy pretended, though not very well, that she didn't mind. 

The big, blond lug eventually rejoined the growing crowd waiting for news, and Darcy hadn't even heard any shouting or the sound of things breaking that had generally accompanied their brotherly interactions recently. She wasn't sure if that boded well or not. Instead, Thor looked uncharacteristically thoughtful as he pushed through the doors to the waiting room.

Before she left, he tried to give Darcy a hug and the traditional words of comfort, had intended to offer coffee or some other sustenance. Darcy didn't really turn him down, because she hadn't noticed. She was too busy pushing past nurses and other medical personnel to realize he'd even spoken to her. 

She lingered outside his room for a long time, listening to his breath and the steady beeping that was the measure of his pulse. Her feet stuck to the floor, unable to carry her that small distance to his side. 

Idiotically, she wondered how to move forward from here. Considering that she was still wearing Natasha's pilfered tactical jacket, it was probably normal that Darcy would hear Nat's voice telling her to 'Keep It Simple, Stupid'.

Looking down at herself, at the bloody clothes that weren't even hers, she took a deep breath and forced her legs into motion. 

Loki was pale. Well, she amended, paler than usual. His eyes were sunken and shadowed. Lids closed, his lashes made a black fan against his too-pale cheeks, and she's never not going to remember this moment, when he opened his eyes at the sound of her soft footfalls and smiled.

She cried, _again_. If she'd ever really stopped in the first place, she didn't know, but these tears were definitely fresh. 

Darcy slid or fell into a chair next to his bed, and his hand rose from the sheets to tangle in the ends of her hair briefly before drifting back down.

She took a deep breath, trying to organize the words that threatened to spill out in a discombobulated jumble of insanity, but he was still smiling, all dopey and soft.

 _Fucker_ , she thought, _fucking fucker_. 

"Glad you're safe," he said, voice reedy and thin. "Stay?"

Darcy nodded, unable to speak past all those words lodged uncomfortably in her throat, and grabbed his hand. Loki's eyelids fluttered shut, leaving Darcy to contemplate the myriad of ways she could make him pay for making her worry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I cannot decide who admits it first... I mean Darcy did, but not really, and Loki obviously loves her, but I cannot get these two fools to actually say it out loud while they are both awake to acknowledge it.


	66. Just When You Think

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, everyone. _Holidays_ , amirite?

Loki wonders how he's come to this.

Darcy sleeps in a chair next to him, slouched over with her arm settled so it won't fall off his bed and break her grip on his hand. She looks terrible and truth be told, she smells a bit, too.

He can't remember ever being so happy to see someone.

Loki can hardly imagine what he'd been thinking when he asked her to stay. ( _Lie_.) It must've been a reaction to whatever noxious gas they'd pumped into him to keep him unconscious. ( _Lie_.) 

Crinkling his forehead against the way seeing her there makes him feel, he snakes his hand out from under hers and croaks out, "Darcy," through parched lips.

He'd offer his kingdom for water, but he didn't have one of those anymore. Subpar dishtowels was perhaps the limit of what he could pony up these days, but even those might be taken away if he didn't have a chance to fix the situation he'd _fallen_ into. He refused to think that he'd have to give up that which he'd finally, _finally_ procured.

The words she'd whispered as he'd been transported washed over him last night in a haze he'd been unable to draw meaning from. He can remember how it felt to sense the weight of them even as he'd been manipulating spare amounts of magic with what remained of his focus. Maybe he'd have understood what she'd said if his task hadn't been so important, but that's a regret for another time.

She stirs, blinking up at him with puffy, red eyes as if she'd felt him regarding her. Darcy's face lights up, a smile stretching her cheeks and squinting those eyes into slits. 

"You're awake -" she manages to get out before someone knocks smartly on the frame of the open door and sails in like she owns the place.

The woman is dressed in the familiar long white coat that somehow signifies a person who works in some sort of science. This one also wears pale blue pajamas under the coat and the most hideous white shoes Loki has ever beheld. Despite the shoes, there's something about this woman's demeanor that commands a certain respect, as if she has seen it all and is decidedly unimpressed. Loki recognizes that look.

"Ms Lewis," the woman says, her tone conveying impatience and a faint disdain, "your reprieve has been revoked. There's a coterie of black suits clogging up the lobby waiting for you." The woman holds up a hand against Darcy's protests. "From what I've seen, you've been given an awful lot of leeway. If I were you, I'd not push it. Go do what you need to. My patient will still be here when you're done."

Darcy looks like she's getting ready to argue, but perhaps it's for the best that she departed for the time being. Loki smiles faintly, "It's fine. I'm fine. I'll see you later."

The woman appears bored as Darcy leaves, squeezing his hand and brushing his hair carefully back before she does. Darcy looks disgruntled and uncertain about this turn of events, but thankfully doesn't kick up a fuss. She turns in the doorway, opening her mouth as if to say something, but the woman in the pajamas closes the door before Darcy can utter a word. 

"Now then," the woman says, as she snaps on a pair of blue gloves in a manner which is incongruously disconcerting for how innocent the gesture is, "let's see what's what."

* * *

He's so tired. It's likely normal - he was _shot_ , after all, and lost a good deal of blood. Combined with the desperate use of his curtailed magic, it's a wonder he was conscious at all.

At the moment he rather wishes he wasn't. 

The visitor who sits across from him has made no bones about how thin the ice he skates on is. Ms. Hill ( _most definitely not Lady of the Hill, as both he and Thor have been advised in the simplest of terms_) has made it abundantly clear that he will be facing repercussions that will be unpleasant, though the precise nature of the punishment he faces has been left unsaid. Uncharacteristically, he worries, if not for himself, then for Darcy. He hadn't set out to involve her.

The look that Ms. Hill gives him as the woman who is apparently his physician ushers her out is pointed and full of promise. 

* * *

Loki is released from the Medical Center with no fanfare. He hasn't been a model patient, and he suspects ( _rightly so_ ) that the staff are glad to see the back of him. 

His physician, who had requested to be known by _Doctor Chen_ , had spent what felt like hours prodding at the faint dimples in his abdomen and remarked how fortunate it was that they were able to extract the projectiles before his skin healed over the holes. She'd kept him to his bed for a day, ordering test after test, things she called x-rays and MRI's, and found no reason to keep him there. She'd still given him a reprieve on the coming interrogation until the following day, a favor she expected a return on at some point. It hardly matters, though it's convenient for the time being.

Darcy smiles, like she hadn't just promised to remove his testicles for his _fuckery_ with HYDRA, (" _Tomorrow, though, since you're still recovering,"_ she'd added magnanimously),as she wheels him out of the door.

He's in the rolling chair it was insisted that he use for the time being as he was convalescing. It's a ridiculous stipulation, but as he clutches the plastic bag containing the clothes he'd worn for that fateful trip to the library, he figures it was undoubtedly better not to rock the proverbial boat.

His hard-won prize is safely tucked away in that pocket of unreality he didn't have enough strength to access yet. He'd have to come up with some sort of substitute sooner rather than later, as it wouldn't do for these mortals to become aware of its precise nature. 

Sighing heavily, Loki looks forward to nothing more strenuous than a quiet evening eating and, with luck, some sort of gentle fornication.

When Darcy wheels him into her apartment, he's taken aback by a chorus of voices greeting him.

_For the love of..._

The stupid dinner. The last dinner with the wedding party before the Asgardian contingent arrives. 

He'd had hopes that the mess at the library would have delayed this nonsense, but no, apparently not.

* * *

They've eaten, they've had drinks, these unwelcome interlopers he's actually somewhat pleased to see. After a fashion.

Lawyer Matthew Murdock and a slightly worse-for-wear and tight-lipped Natasha Romanov, a beaming Thor in touching distance of his Doctor-Lady Jane always ( _disgustingly sentimental, but, and it pains Loki to admit it, even to himself, it suits him)_ , the easy sarcasm of Wilson playing against Darcy's identical tendencies, and the Captain, _Steve_.

All there, perched on whatever surfaces they could find.

All pretending as if the library didn't happen, for the time being.

He puts his wondering aside to focus on these people who have every reason to loathe him, but have unaccountably adopted him into their group. He's even shared a look with Thor at the deplorable table manners of mortals. If he wasn't careful, he might find himself really regretting what was coming next. 

As Darcy gets up to refresh the pitcher of Margaritas, he hobbles to her side. She's lovely like this, cheeks blushing with the effects of alcohol and passionate discourse, eyes alight with intelligence. She's cleverer than he'd given her credit for initially, and far more than he deserves.

If only his plans weren't set. If only he'd made different choices. If only he could let himself wallow in the look she gives him, full of hope and something he doesn't dare put a name to. 

She leans close after tipping most of a bottle of tequila in the pitcher, "This probably isn't the right time, but, you know what? Timing isn't really my thing, and if I don't say it now, I might end up not saying it, and I don't want to miss the opportunity because I'm scared or worried or whatever. Fuck it. I'm just going to say it, and, you know, no pressure, but -," the jumbled words come to an abrupt stop. She takes a deep breath, looks him straight in the eye -

Loki feels something inside spool into itself as he waits for her words -

"Little Lightening Sister!" Thor bounds over, all puppy-ish enthusiasm and terrible timing, interrupting with customary disregard for anything but his fickle whims whatever thing Darcy had been gearing herself up to say.

The moment is gone.

* * *

Later, it's quiet. 

The guests have finally taken themselves off to their own lives, leaving Loki to Darcy, gloriously alone. 

He's tired like he almost never is, exhaustion dragging him down into her bed while she putters around the living room picking up glasses and plates. The tink-tink-clank rings through the darkened room almost like a melody, and he lets the sound lull him into a state of half-sleep while he waits for her to join him. 

The bed dips sometime later, a warmth and solidity he craves settling close, so close. In the distant way of dreams he's reminded of that first night so many months ago ( _oh, those thoughts he'd had, so unformed and incomplete)_ , of all the nights between when he'd not been here, in this spot, comfortable and safe. Yesterday does not matter, today does not matter, an infinity of tomorrows do not matter. Not now. Not in this moment. 

It feels like contentment, this break in time.

Darcy Lewis is his. For now. 

Her arms around him. For now. 

He'd stay if he could. For always.

If he could. 

It's out of his sleep-slack lips, but still inflected with what Frigga had taught him as he'd first learned to weave his seider was _intent,_ before he realizes it. ( _You have to mean it, darling, or the spell will not work_.)

"I love you," Loki mumbles, as she breathes against him. ( _Truth_.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have to give thanks here to everyone who reviewed the last chapter, because I was an ass and didn't do that in a timely fashion:
> 
> gladheonsleeps  
> SweetSigyn  
> Annand  
> Lynds  
> Matlida_Nicki  
> Glory_Jean
> 
> You guys... I <3 you!
> 
> Particular thanks to Whyndancer for the help with this thorny "who shot first" (it was HAN!) conundrum. (My kink is half-asleep declarations of love, apparently. Who knew?)  
> Hope everyone had a great holiday and a happy new year! Love to all y'all.


	67. Employment Opportunities

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Half-drabble, after-bar writing, so it's extremely brief, and God only knows how coherent. I suppose technically it fits in before the last chapter, but whatever. It amused me, and I came up empty at lunch yesterday so... here. Have a quick little something before we get back to the matter at hand.

You could call Darcy Lewis a pot stirrer, but you'd definitely be missing out on her under-rated, but superb interpersonal skills. She was absolutely _wasted_ in the lab. If Stark hadn't made her an offer for employment in the IT Department by the end of the quarter, Maria was definitely going to try to snake Darcy Lewis into _her_ Data Collection Division. That loudmouth had a way of both getting into trouble, and figuring her own way out of said trouble that was quite astonishing in one so unschooled. 

Take how she handled the Library Incident; her actions were ill-considered to the point of lethal stupidity. She also demonstrated a truly remarkable ability to continue her manipulations of JARVIS and the security system while bullets were shredding the doorway she was behind. Focus like that could be honed and directed. 

Darcy Lewis was the type of person willing to take on six armed guards to stay in that waiting room. There was no scenario where that would have ended well, not with Thor's arrival, though Maria in no way discounted that Jane would have backed up her assistant quite capably.

So while Maria had been surprised by JARVIS's message that despite her explicit instructions to the contrary, an over-eager Investigatory Agent had dispatched a tactical unit of ( _all things, speaking of lethal stupidity_ ) to fetch Darcy Lewis for debriefing, she wasted no time in calling them off. She wasn't one to send troops to fight a losing battle, not against members of their own team, not for something that could be easily accomplished with a little patience, coffee and some doughnuts.

She typed up a quick memo on her desk while it was still fresh in her mind, sent it off with a flick of her wrist. Team-building exercises were all fine and dandy, but sometimes a person needed to write something sternly worded that expressed ones frustration. Maria would deal with Ms Lewis herself. 

Tomorrow. 

Leaning back, she settled her hands on her desk and let her breath seep out in a long gust. The stress relieving technique didn't do much of anything, but luckily she had just the thing to help soothe her agitation. She had an over-reaching little toad to dress down. 

Maria truly believed it was the little things that made life enjoyable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's bizarre how you sit down to do one thing, and end up doing something completely different.


	68. Doesn't Matter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Errrrr. This wasn't what I sat down to write either, but I'm gonna just go with it.

She is not going to cry.

She's done enough of that in the last 48 hours to last a lifetime. 

Still, something about the way he tells her he love her makes her shudder and heated pressure build behind her eyes and in her throat. It's so unlike him. It's unguarded and she knows, deep down in her bones, that somewhere along the line they will both regret it. It's really just a question of how much, not even when. Just how much will it tear out, how deep the cut will go. 

Because it's the words he didn't say, the ones she knows are coming, soon, _those_ are the ones she's worried about. 

Her own aborted confession hangs in the air between them, but she can't bring herself to speak it, regardless of her earlier intent. She hopes, she hopes like a prayer she will never speak, that she's wrong, but she knows, too. She knows too much and too little. 

She doesn't cry.

She sleeps and doesn't dream.

She wakes before her alarm clock blares. The sky is still dark, as dark as it ever gets in the city, and she waits. 

He stirs in her bed, a dark head lifting from the pillow he favors, green eyes deep and black in the thin light. She knows their colors by heart. 

He reaches for her as she stands by the windows, smiling and she realizes that he doesn't know she's aware of his plan. He doesn't know that he gave himself away with three words. 

She lets her feet move, because there's never going to be enough time, not for them. She might as well take what she can while she can, a lifetime of taking to do in however many minutes, hours, days before he leaves.

Maybe she should be angry, because she's _tried_. She's tried so hard to help him, to make him see, to give him what he needs. Maybe she should rail against the unfairness of it all. Maybe, maybe.

She doesn't cry. 

She lets him wrap her up in the soft reverence of his touch. Because the rest doesn't really matter, because it's not then, whenever that might be, it's now, and he's not gone yet. 

She doesn't cry, she holds his face in her hands as he moves inside her, she looks into his eyes, she says, "I love you too, Loki." And leaves unsaid just as much as he did. 


	69. Running Down a Dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shamelessly stole from Tom Petty for the chapter title. I make no claims of ownership.

There is a moment when he thinks he's been caught. The sense of discovery skitters across the back of his neck, but he continues his pursuit of the fleeing person regardless. 

* * *

"There were two targets unaccounted for after your little mission, Nat. You're usually better than this," Steve says, face pulling into a frown Sam likes to compare to a disappointed grandma.

He tries to compensate for this by schooling his features into blandness, but he's almost entirely sure he fails and winds up with the Look of Constipation. 

 _Whatever_. That's what people would say now, shrugging a shoulder before putting in an earbud. Even Steve knows that train of thought makes him sound at least as old as he actually is, but fine. He's old. Ancient. A spangled relic from a different age... _Whatever_.

Natasha, God bless every single red, Russian hair on her head, just looks at him. A volume of _I Could Care Less, But I'd Be Dead_ is spoken in that single glance, and Steve sighs.

"We're a team, Nat. Even without -,"

"Don't," she says, interrupting him. "This isn't about Clint leaving. He's got obligations," her eyes cut to the side, a tell so entirely obvious, he's nearly startled, "and I don't begrudge him that."

Her gaze returns to his and her eyes are as flat as her voice, flat as South Dakota. He'd been there once, back when he was still a monkey performing for War Bonds, and no matter how much he tried, he could never capture how just how _wide_ the sky was, how the land propped up the vastness of the heavens. (Bucky wouldn't have believed it, he remembers thinking that, Bucky wouldn't believe that there's a place where the earth mimics the horizon on an ocean.)

Steve nods, just once, a short dip of his chin, acknowledging that she has a boundary he shouldn't cross. He shifts his line of questioning.

"Did _he_ put you up to this?" he asks, saying _I know you're smarter than that_ in not so many words. 

"An opportunity presented itself. If it hadn't been for external _meddling_ , this wouldn't even be an issue. I would've had an entire HYDRA cell, and their files, to serve up on a silver platter. This whole interrogation is a bit rich coming from _you_ of all people. Also, just so we're clear on the chain of command of this ridiculous operation, you're not the boss of me."

Steve sighs, resisting the urge to bury his face in his hands or tear out his hair. "Mature, Nat, real mature."

* * *

He can't go back to the library. Agents are crawling all over the place, but it's no matter. He's got other places hidden around the city.

The person he'd been following hadn't been smart enough to figure out he was being tailed. They had barely even attempted to double back or deviate from a more or less straight line back to a nondescript office building. It didn't look like much from the outside, but from his surveillance, he deduced that their security system was state of the art.

It wasn't going to be particularly easy to get in, but it was by no means impossible.

A half-formed plan already in mind, he wanders in the direction of his tertiary hideout, despite the daylight making him a bit jumpy.

* * *

Steve Rogers didn't precisely understand everything that the report he'd been given said. There was a lot of probability algorithm mumbo jumbo and words like closed circuit camera surveillance, and in the end he stopped trying.

Technically, he had his own liaison for this stuff - future/now stuff. The thing was Rudy Fernandez was kind of an ass, and Steve didn't like him much. Which was how he came to be surreptitiously sliding a file folder across a table at Darcy Lewis's favorite donut place.

"I thought we had talked about this printing out files 'n stuff, Rogers?" Darcy asked, looking at him over her glasses. "Paper is precious. Save the forests." Her voice surpasses mere deadpan, but the glimmer of a crinkle at the corners of her eyes makes her teasing sting a bit less. "Plus, this can't be secure."

Steve rubs the back of his head, feeling a blush working its way up his neck, "It's nothing classified. I just wanted someone to dumb some of the concepts down for me. Sam mentioned you were pretty good about explaining the whatever you did with Natasha's computer stuff."

Her mouth straightens out, a quiver marring the flatness of the line. "Hmkay. I know I shouldn't laugh about this, because having a spy in our midst turned out to be a whole lot less sexy than Hollywood has led me to believe it would be, so I'm trying to keep a lid on it. By the by, I basically just analyzed Nat's search history. More or less, maybe less, technically? Anyway, that's where we'll leave it, so when you do tattle to her, she won't kidnap me and leave me in the jungle or desert somewhere." 

"Are you ok?" Steve asks, concerned about the jittery quality of her words and odd mannerisms.

He tilts his head to the side as he considers Darcy's appearance, but something distracts him.

There. 

In the reflection in the window behind Darcy. 

Steve gets just a split-second glance before the figure tucks his head down and makes like he's sauntering off all casual-like. 

"...and I feel like I've let everyone down, like, _hello_ , I should have seen this coming -,"

Steve cringes as he realizes how much of a colossal _knucklehead_ he has to be right now, "Sorry, Darcy. I gotta go."

He's already running, so he's not sure how much of that she would have heard, especially over the clattering of his chair toppling over, but he's on a mission. A fool's errand maybe is more accurate. Probably. He slows later, 34 blocks later to be precise, in the process of trying to convince himself that it was normal to see the Bucky's face in a window, to recognize his mannerisms and walk in what had to be a stranger. He was sure that the shrink would say he was _projecting_. 

Turning to look at the street signs, trying to orient himself, he wondered if he should take the subway back to the Tower, or just hoof it. And how was he going to explain himself to Darcy?

The rain decides it for him and he jogs to the nearest station just down the street.

* * *

He settles on a bench a few rows back, focusing on the gleaming blond hair, tousled from running. It's familiar, the way it sort of flops across his head. 

It's almost enough to goad him into an action best not taken. 

He's been left so different after all this time, so empty and lost, and his old life is right there, and he could reach out and take it.

But he doesn't. 

He sits on a bench a few rows behind Steve Rogers, and wonders if he'll ever put enough of his old self back together to find the courage to go home.

* * *

There's a tingle at the back of his neck, and his muscles tense under his sensible windbreaker. He's convinced that someone on the train must've recognized him for Captain America, and dreads the inevitable tweets or whatever that will surely follow. 

He's disembarking when he sees him. 

Bucky.

The flow of passengers around him doesn't matter, he's a rock disrupting the tide. Bucky nearly smiles and Steve moves to get back on the train, but he's too late. The doors close and the train sweeps out of the station.

He's stuck in place, staring at the now empty tunnel before it occurs to him to run. He's a super soldier, and maybe that won't make him fast enough to catch up, but he has to try. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writer gives herself props for avoiding the obvious 69 jokes.  
> Writer takes away props for referring to herself in the third person. 
> 
> (I know! I know! This chapter wasn't technically Darcy or Loki centered, but I had to. Or Bucky would have been left in the library for all eternity.)


	70. Always a Bridesmaid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have some mostly light and fluffy Darcy & Jane interaction.

Jane was beautiful. 

That didn't come as a surprise, but seeing her all decked out in her now perfectly fitted wedding finery really did drive the point home. 

Darcy's breath hitched a little, actually, which was what had been intended with that dress. Shock and awe. 

"You look," Darcy paused for a second, while Jane worried a seam between two fingers and looked at her with wide, unsure eyes, "absolutely breathtaking."

Jane brightened, "You think?"

Nodding solemnly, Darcy said, "I know. You're going to knock him dead."

Her friend's smile was beaming, and the resentment Darcy had felt threatening to bubble up and consume her after all the months of decidedly un-Jane-like behavior died. "You don't look too shabby either," Jane commented with a low whistle. 

"I've been meaning to thank you for not subscribing to the 'Make your bridesmaids look horrible, so the bride looks better in comparison' school of thought. It'll be nice not to have to prance around in a ruched, electric blue horror show of a circus tent."

"Ha! Well, it's the least I could do after everything I've put you through. I'm sorry I went a little - ," Jane stopped and glared at Darcy's disbelieving snort, "batty."

"And she finally acknowledges the craziness! Huzzah!"

"You try arranging a ceremony revolving around ancient Asgardian traditions!" Jane shot back. 

"I did!" Darcy responded with a half-hearted glare. "Who exactly do you think did all the research on proper seating protocols and appropriate flowers and, ugh, visited approximately a _billion_ venues before you decided to do it in the Tower? Who sampled all the cakes in Manhattan?"

Jane flushed a bit, before giving Darcy a sheepish grin, "You did, my dearest, most darling of friends. I love you."

"Shut up, you. Flattery will get you nowhere."

"Ah, you love me, too, you know it and I know it. Undo me, please?" Jane turned and presented Darcy with her back.

The thing was, Jane was right. Darcy did love her. Her fingers working quickly down the row of fastenings at Jane's back, Darcy said, "Thanks for getting me out of house arrest, or whatever they were calling it."

"Eh, what's the point of being scary if I can't use it to my advantage every so often? Besides, I couldn't get married without you there." Jane drifted off behind the curtain, "I _am_ sorry I couldn't do more for Loki, though."

"Yeah, well. He deserves it, I guess. No more trips out of the Tower, and the deal we were working on to get him immunity is shot to Hell. I just hope..." Her voice trailed off.

"What?"

"That he doesn't do anything stupid. Or _stupider_. I know he's planning something - he's acting all squirrelly and weird. Like telling me he loves me out of the blue, and -,"

"He did? Oh, Darcy, that's wonderful. Did you say it back?"

"Jane! Aren't you listening? It's bizarre and not like him. I'm telling you, he's got some sort of plot brewing and I'm trying really hard not to freak out."

"Honey, I'm sure it's nothing but nerves. Or whatever his equivalent is. It'll be fine, you'll see."

"You know, I'm pretty sure I liked you better when you were just a crazy science doctor lady. All this blind faith in the _healing powers of lov_ e is pretty disconcerting coming from you, of all people."

Jane popped out behind the curtain, dressed in jeans and a flannel shirt again, "Well, we'll see who's right soon enough, won't we?"

"That's not nearly as comforting as you seem to think it is."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could've sworn I posted this earlier, but whatever. Have a safe weekend!


	71. Ain't It Funny How Time Slips Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More theft, this time from Al Green. I should probably be ashamed of myself.  
> In any case, we are getting closer to the finish line.

All of his planning, all of the plotting, all of the research did nothing to prepare him for this. 

The moment of truth. 

Strange expression that, and it doesn't suit him at all. Still, it's accurate. This moment is what he'd been hoping for, and now that he's here, he hesitates. 

As unexpected as it was, as much as it pained him to admit it, he's found something, someone, here. With these people, so fragile and small, he'd found companionship and empathy where none should rightfully have existed.

It shames him, that he'd succumbed to such weakness. It shames him, all these connections he's going to sever. But he'll make it right, next time - this whole plan is to make it all better. Though he's not exactly certain how, precisely it will effect this version of these people. Is it irony that Doctor Foster would likely be able to untangle that thorny foray into quantum mechanics? 

Loki has no freedom of movement, not that he especially needs it. If he's got it right, the actual process won't take but a moment. 

The tattoos have been itching, like bugs crawling under his skin, and he wonders if he's caught the attention of the All-Father. Wonders if Thor acted on that long ago threat to have Heimdall more closely monitor him. All he needs is another single use of his curtailed magic. 

Though it should have been impossible, the Time Gem calls to him from inside it's veil. How incalculable were the odds were that another Gem was to be found on this realm, of all places? What was it about Midgard that pulled these powerful relics to it like a particularly powerful magnet?

Those were, perhaps, questions for another time. 

It was sheer luck that when his research led him on a merry chase through a mountain of evidence and rumor, HYDRA turned out to have it. Not that they could have guessed what it was they had possession of, or they wouldn't have been so quick to offer it up. 

Loki glances at his newly appointed watchdog, a dour little fellow who enjoys his post about as much as Loki himself enjoys having him about. Which is to say, not at all. Darcy hums from her desk as she taps away at whatever task Jane has set her to. He loves the way her eyes narrow and she glares at the screen. He loves the way she's never ever still, perpetually in motion, like a force of nature. He loves her, and so he waits. 

Not because he has to, but because he can. It will not matter if he leaves at this very instant, or later, after he can -

What?

They've said their piece, gone as far down this road as he dares, and if he goes further who knows if he'll ever find the right moment to leave. Cowardice or bravery, he's not sure he has either, or if his choice has anything to do with them. Mostly, Loki can admit to himself, it's selfishness. A selfish need to right the wrong he holds closest. 

 _Mor_ would not approve, he knows, but it's not her choice to make. It's his, and he will right it, and save her. 

"Excuse me, Agent Monroe, I must make use of the facilities," Loki says, voice as disinterested as any other time they've spoken.

Darcy glances up from her work and Loki nods at her, lets a hand brush across her shoulders as he walks by. Her answering smile as she returns to focusing on the problem lights up his insides, and he lets himself hope that he'll find her again.

He clears his mind as he walks down the hall to the bathroom. He pictures in his mind the moment he will never forgive himself for, and though there are many moments he'd like to change, there is only one that matters. Frigga is his mother, and this time he will know better than to question it. 

"A bit of privacy?" he asks when the agent places a palm on the door as he steps into a stall to stop him from closing it. Loki shrugs, injecting a bit of sheepishness into the gesture, "Dr Foster's chili."

Agent Monroe winces, lip curling in disgust, and allows the door to shut. 

It's rather an undignified situation, but needs must. It's not easy to access the pocket of unreality, but hopefully Agent Monroe will think it's a different sort of straining going on. 

He's sweating a bit when the gem has been retrieved, a moist chill that eats at his bones. 

 _It's for the best_ , he reminds himself, weighing the gem in his palm along with his choices. It would be so easy to erase everything that had transpired since his coronation. It's so tempting to allow someone else to shoulder the burden of Thanos and the knowledge of his plans. 

Agent Monroe knocks on the door, "Is everything... alright in there?"

It's time. 

Eyes closed, he ignores the increasingly frantic knocking, and allows himself to fall. 

* * *

He hurts. 

He burns.

He crashes against every single choice he's made since he'd argued with Frigga that last time. He knows he must keep hold on to the gem or he will forget. He must not forget.

Loki has fallen so many times, this is nothing in comparison.

He must not let go. He must not forget.

* * *

The gem is a pleasant warmth in his palm. He is fine. Disoriented, but fine.

Loki is in the cell that he'd been contained in since Thor had brought him back in chains to face the All-Father. Frigga's simulacrum paces nearby, hurt evident in her voice, in the way she twitches the folds of her dress just so.

Already memories of the things he'd done fade, but he must not forget.

"Am I not your mother?" Frigga asks, and oh, she is. In every way that counts. Not perfect, but his.

He bows his head, "Yes. You are."

* * *

Loki's dreams plague him. 

She has dark hair and eyes so blue. She is no one at all, and yet, he can't escape her. 

* * *

Later, when the palace is under attack, he recalls the curious stone he'd held so tightly, the one he's secreted away. He remembers thinking that _he must not forget_ , but he has. He has forgotten about the Tower, and new companions and ideas that challenge his place in the grand scheme of things. 

Loki has not forgotten that he must not offer words to the beings who invade the dungeon.

Frigga lives.

Frigga lives and offers a choice. 

He remembers a smart mouth saying a single word, " _Dick_."

Loki escapes with Thor, as Frigga's swords flash like the lightning her son wields. She's magnificent and strong, and does not falter.

It feels like it's right when Jane slaps his face. It feels like his path has been righted.

It feels like he's going home. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also, what a twist?
> 
>  
> 
> (I LIE. I AM SO SORRY.)


	72. It's a Start

There's this thing he does sometimes, usually when he's emotional, where his face goes cold and his body goes rigid. Loki likes to pretend that he's above it all, and Darcy likes to remind him that he's not.

The taut lines of his face under the harsh fluorescent light are a signal to everyone else, _leave me be._  To Darcy, it's more of an invitation to fuck with him.

She reached out and nearly poked him in the shoulder with the very tip of her fingernail, once painted a sparkly purple, now chipped and in desperate need of a new coat.

_I'm not touching you._

Loki remained still as a corpse. Darcy's finger remained millimeters from touching him.

_I'm not touching you._

Green eyes flare as he ignored her, studiously reviewing the latest data gathered by Jane. _Still not touching you_. His jaw flexed and Darcy knew he was right on the edge.

Boredom is a harsh task mistress, leading her down roads it was likely best not to traverse. 

 _Poke_.

The sigh he gave made all his leather creak and the bits of decorative metal clank against each other. She almost had him.

"Come on, dude. I'm bored and you said you would."

"As I have said, repeatedly, you may refer to me as Your Majesty or Prince Loki. Not Loki. Not _man_. Not _yo_ and certainly not _dude_ ," he took a breath and gazed at Darcy with the sort of bland, neutral smile that really meant  _Why aren't you dead yet, imbecile?_

Delighted, Darcy can barely contain the urge to clap enthusiastically. It was probably not just unethical, but also a sign of some (mild, hopefully) form of psychopathy to enjoy tormenting her lab _associate_ as much as she did. 

Haha, lab associate. Two years ago he gets dragged out of a space hole by Jane, with a knife shoved in his gut. He'd almost bled out in Jane's mom's Volvo, but he'd used a pair of Eric's old sweatpants as a bandage, sucked it up and fought against the elves with them. Even with Eric acting like a loony toon and freaking out in his underwear while they were trying to save London from total annihilation, he still stood with them.

Personally, if Darcy hadn't already thrown in her lot with that group of crazies, she would have run screaming for the hills. It was that he'd actually stuck around that had made her revise her initial opinion that Loki was an unrepentant dickbag to that he was a potentially repentant dickbag. Still, she hadn't exactly been sorry to see SHIELD drag him off to do the incarceration thing. 

Weird that they were all back together, under one roof. Or in a Tower. Jane was happy with her new toys, though, and Loki kept to himself mostly, so Darcy had adjusted to the weird new normal. It was definitely odd that it was so fun to torment him, but it wasn't like she was hurting anyone.

She kicked her legs and spun around in her chair - _once, twice, three times a lady_ \-  God, she was so, so  _bored_. 

"You said you would teach me how to throw knives last week, and that sounds infinitely more fun than charting the orbital decay of the who-the-fuck-even-cares. Come on," she said, voice edging into a whine.

Loki didn't even look up from his work, "I said I _could_ show you how, not that I would. There's miles of difference between the two, but if you don't understand that at your state of development, I'm afraid there's nothing I can do for you."

"Sick burn, yo," Darcy popped her gum and enjoyed the way his jaw twitched in response. "Did you know I once hummed for twelve hours straight on a dare from my cousin Tammy? I wonder if I could do it again." She tapped a finger against her bottom lip while she adopted a contemplative pose; hand on her hip, head tilted back, "Hmmm."

"I don't care. Try it," he said, arrogant as always. 

"Oh, you are on, dick," Darcy responded automatically, smiling like a fool at the blatant dare he had inadvertently challenged her to. 

She was about halfway through a rather rousing rendition of Under Pressure before she noticed the odd look Loki was giving her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so flipping happy you guys are still reading! Thanks for being awesome, wonderful people.


	73. This Time Around

Loki can pinpoint the exact moment when he'd recognized her. Literally the woman of his dreams.

_Oh, it's on, dick._

The bell has been rung, there's no unringing it now. It could have been funny, except at the moment he was having the most difficult time appreciating the humor in the weave of his fate. He wonders if Frigga had known, if she had laughed while working her loom.

 _Her_. 

Irritating. Sarcastic. Ill-mannered. 

It is laughably inappropriate. 

* * *

Out of the corner of his eye, he watches her.

Her fingers tap in time to a rhythm he can't hear. Her feet are never still under her desk. 

It's an incessant distraction. 

His mouth opens to tell her _Enough_ , but she lets out a high-pitched squeal of some sort before he can. She claps a guilty hand over her mouth, looks wide-eyed around the lab. Seeing only him, she shrugs dismissively and winks.

"Awesome song," Darcy says, too loudly, using a finger from the hand that had momentarily muzzled her to point at her ear.

Turning back to her work, she procedes to continue ignoring him.

 _Why her?_ he wonders.

* * *

Their schedules are mostly in sync. In the morning, she gathers coffee for her and Jane from the break room. She sometimes nods at him, sometimes she just hums tunelessly as if unaware that he waits his turn behind her. Always behind her - perfectly, suspiciously, timed.

He suspects, but cannot prove, that Darcy has sabotaged the beverage dispenser. Even if 'diagnostics do not indicate performance outside acceptable parameters' and 'on occasion, the dispenser will have to be restocked', when he stands there disappointed, it always feels like something she had a hand in. 

During lunch she reads, filthy drek mostly, best he can tell. He watches her, she mostly ignores him. That he's being looked over because of smut is nearly more than his ego can take.

When she's not ignoring him, she's annoying him, and he's not sure which is worse or why it matters or even if he cares. He shouldn't care, he knows, but the part of his brain that dreams certainly does. Her face, her hands, the way she fills a room with her laugh all feature in his nocturnal unconscious. 

She waves and says a cheery goodbye to everyone in the lab every night, and somehow he feels like he's included. 

It's a balance to live here, a careful walk across a slack line, and while it's not pleasant, it's tolerable. He's negotiated a bit of freedom, and he's not in a position to start introducing unnecessary complications into the equation. He's quite certain that he must stay the course. The boring, mind-numbing, completely uncomplicated course.

* * *

It's when there's a 'security incident' that things come to a head. A well-armed team crashes through their long bank of windows high above the street, and in moments it's all guns blazing, equipment shattering, mortals shrieking.

Loki had been living with boredom for too long, which was likely why he enjoys himself so much; throwing people this way and that, hurling heavy items at heads in masks. The rush of battle is a song in his veins, a dance he knows all the steps to. Simple glory. 

Darcy was supposed to have been huddling under a desk with Jane, but nothing in their acquaintance had suggested that she was _that_ sort of person, so it's not precisely a surprise that that's exactly where she's _not_. That's not something he should be so damned attracted to, but he is, more's the pity.

Darcy wields her taser well, shocking those unfortunate enough to stumble across her hiding spot next to the big red lever that cuts power to the lab. She must've been the one to make the unsettling noises a few of the machines had started making after their rough treatment finally stop.

When it's over, when there's no one left to fight, he expects to see her there, fussing over Jane and making angry noises about the general state of destruction. She's not, though, and it's a shock, like a well placed punch to the gut, to see her being helped up onto a stretcher, pale and bloody.

He hears her voice over the cacophony of the aftermath, raised in a long string of shouted profanities. "Can you not, like, poke my bullet wound until after the painkillers kick in, pretty fucking please with a cherry on top?" 

Loki's world goes white for a second, and it doesn't matter if he understands why or how or when she became important. He pushes himself through the crowd, stopping at her side.

"Hey," she says by way of greeting, as she blinks up at him. "Toldya you should have taught me how to throw knives," her smile is lopsided and her eyes unnaturally bright. She looks down at her shoulder, the hastily applied bandage already dotted red. "Not sure how it would've stopped me from being shot, exactly, but I could've been much more of a badass."

"Excuse me," says a man in blue pyjamas, "we need to get her into surgery," and Loki looks down to see that he's holding her hand. "Look, the shoulder isn't the worst place to get shot in, and we've got great facilities just downstairs - she'll be fine."

It takes him a second to process that the man is speaking to him because he needs to let go.

"I will, then," Loki tells Darcy as she's being taken away, after he's forced his fingers to loosen their grip, "when you're better." 

"Promise?" she asks, voice going dim and slurry.

He nods, realising after the fact that she couldn't possibly see him from her position in the closing elevator.

* * *

"You know, on Earth," says the Captain, sincerity positively oozing from every pore, as Loki resolutely _doesn't_ fidget, not in the slightest, "flowers are probably just a little more customary."

Loki glares at him, while holding a brace of knives. The man was brave or stupid, Loki would give him that. "Yes, well. It's," and there must be a phrase or something glib he can say to explain this away, but all he can manage is, "for Darcy Lewis."

_...And he could literally kick himself. It wouldn't take much. A quick nod and he could summon a double. Possibly several. They could take turns kicking him..._

The elevator dings, the doors open and he focuses himself back in the present, willing himself to present a calm and serene front. 

He doesn't notice the smile on the Captain's face as he squares his shoulders and walks down the hallway to the medical center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks everyone, once again.


	74. So, Here's The Thing (Episode 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is gonna be a 2 parter, because it became massive, and I figure breaking it up means a quicker update. (Also, never trust me when I say I'm going to update. Just don't. I am filled with hubris and some psychotic version of hopeless optimism and never learn my lesson. Don't tempt the muse.)

So, here's the thing - Darcy didn’t _like_ him. Not like that. Loki was just someone she liked to mess with. Basically all of the Avengers, on the other hand? Has had a crush on nearly every single one, at one point or another. She was adult enough to admit that. (It had been excruciating, actually, when she'd first started at the Tower, but she'd managed alright around them lately.)

Loki differed in that he was mostly unpleasant. It was only when he shelved his natural propensity towards condescension for more than a minute that he could be almost, nearly charming. They were probably more alike then they cared to admit, truth be told. Inasmuch as a silly mortal can be similar to a thousand year old space Viking.

But , (and it was a huge but, like the kind of butt Sir Mix-a-lot rapped about,) he had saved her life. He was allowed to come to this party, to enjoy more than his small modicum of freedom, because he'd saved all of them, and not just technically either. If he hadn't been in the lab with them, who knows what HYDRA would have gotten away with, who knows if she'd have been able to cut the power before the quantum regulator overheated and blew everything in a ten block radius into smithereens.

_Hello New York, meet your newest savior._

Darcy would never forget how fucking safe she’d felt, seeing him standing there after she'd been loaded onto the stretcher. He’d been unruffled, hair still mostly perfectly in place. A healthy glow in his cheeks and artful smudges that accentuated his unearthly beauty were the only concessions to his exertions. _Dick._

She hadn't been expecting his hand to grip hers, she hadn't been anticipating him to upend every single thing about their relationship that she'd held true, but he had. With a simple gesture and what had felt like the full weight of his attention on her, he'd ripped apart the puzzle of him she'd been so carefully piecing together.

In a further shocking development, he'd shown up that second day she'd been recovering and given her knives, of all things. What does someone even _say_ to that? In her drugged state, she'd barely managed a _Thank you,_ too busy practically swooning over his general state of gorgeousness to question his very presence, not to mention that of his unconventional gift, in her hospital room. _Pretty eyes_. 

She'd had hopes, upon waking the next day that it had been some awful, especially vivid fever dream, but the knives she'd found tucked away next to her tablet had given lie to that particular fantasy. The only good thing about the truth was that it meant he really had shuffled his feet and looked at her all soft before pivoting on his heel and scurrying out of there.

What did it all mean?

They weren't _friends_ , right? 

Oh dear God. They were. Sort of. 

So, the thing was - Darcy sort of owed him. Sort of definitely, absolutely owed him. But what do you get a demi-god who saved your life? Loki didn’t seem like the type who’d appreciate cookies or her well-worn copy of the Lord of the Rings or even a giant 4kHDTV.

Loki circulated across the room, charm leaking out of him like a miasma, a trail of admirers left lusting in his wake - never mind the whole mass murderer thing. If it wasn’t so absolutely understandable, she’d despair of her species.

Darcy sipped her champagne, feeling securely smug that she wasn’t as susceptible as the average muggle to the considerable charms of either Odinsson. Especially with the way the adopted brothers suits contrasted so well with each other; Loki in his monochrome black, Thor in his navy and crisp white. By some tailoring miracle Thor didn't look like he was stuffed into it and was about to burst out, Hulk-style. Jane certainly seemed to appreciate it, if the way she looked up at him all gooey was any indication.

Natasha Romanov, gorgeous whistleblower / spy extraordinaire, sidled up to Loki. She was wearing a black, sleeveless sheath fitted to within an inch of her life, but hiding an arsenal nonetheless, Darcy was sure.

To a normal person the tilt of their head probably spoke of intimacy, a sense of ease with the other, but all Darcy noticed was the way the assassin’s fingers dug into the sleeve of Loki’s suit, they way his lips tightened. Apparently someone else had noticed the trail of enthusiastic converts that littered the circuitous route Loki had taken. 

Probably Tony Stark. Vainglorious man that he was.

He should have been used to being the eighth prettiest person in a room at this point in his life, especially with the crowd he kept, but apparently not.

Her own jaunt through the crowds of the rich and powerful had garnered enough suggestive and lewd comments that she’d retreated for a few moments to survey her options while she continued to imbibe in this obscenely expensive champagne. 

The unfortunate thing was, no matter that Captain of Industry This or Senator That had been eating out of her palm, she couldn’t stop surreptitiously checking out her work nemesis - her friend? The person who made the eight to twelve hour workday as difficult as he could manage; drawing even the simplest of discussions out past the point of being worthwhile, obstinately refusing to take Jane's or her word on anything. He had a really bad habit of irking the shit out of her most days. He had an even worse one of making her laugh at the most inappropriate moments.

It had only been a week since the attack. Her arm was snugly immobile inside a sling fashioned out of an insanely expensive scarf _Pepper freaking Potts_ had loaned her, and her dress was banging, but it was like she'd lost her taste for it. It being fun.

The doctor had warned her against taking the pain pills and drinking, so she’d skipped her last dose, a decision she was starting to regret. It wasn’t often she had the chance to party like a rich person, and she wasn’t about to miss out just because…

Her brain skipped off track as a glass smashed and raucous, howling laughter became one with the thing she couldn’t stop thinking about. How the windows had shattered and the operatives had swung in, the way they’d streamed through the lab, trashing equipment and shooting at what was bolted down. The face of one of Jane’s new interns, Kim, as she fell, permanently surprised, a neat hole in her forehead.

Darcy shook her head, carefully dropped her glass on a serendipitous waiter’s tray. She eyed the full flutes, a weight slowly sliding off her shoulders at the sight of all that liquid deliciousness. People with couth and tact and manners only took one. Good thing none of those had ever been a particular priority. Taking a deep breath was still somewhat painful, but she did and it made her cleavage reach spectacular proportions. She was disappointed when the waiter merely sighed tiredly. So much for feminine charms.

“It’s fine. You can have more than one as long as you let me slide in behind this column next to you. Do you mind?”

Waiter Brad (“ _Like Pitt_?”) had been on his feet all night as it happened, and his friend Jason’s shoes didn’t quite fit. When he handed over the tray, Darcy couldn’t very well say no. Especially since those glasses bubbled with possibilities right there. One and two went down so smoothly, she forgot that she’d already had three. Waiter Brad gave her a smile before he took the tray back and wandered off to bring more joy to the masses.

The column became more than camouflage, it became support. Darcy leaned, head loose on its hinges, and tugged absent-mindedly at her neckline. When she looked up, Loki was looking in her direction. She glanced around for the perfect specimen that seemed to have caught his attention, but all she saw were some rather paunchy lobbyists. Her head swiveled back around to Loki.

His face was turning away, back towards mega-babe Sam Wilson who’d joined Natasha in their conversation, creating an epic nexus of hotness. If Captain America showed up right then, Darcy was pretty sure the entire place would implode, or she would. Despite variety of eye candy available, it was like her gaze kept getting drawn back to Loki. 

She should probably stop staring, but it was a compulsion at this point, watching him. Her head ached with the realization that out of all the people - relatively normal, seemingly well-adjusted people! - "working together for the benefit of humanity" to pick from, she'd somehow ended up... _Fuck_.

She wobbled back behind the column, hiding herself as best she could from the dark-haired menace that plagued her. She was very much wishing that she'd made better choices this evening, but nope. She was a drunken mess confronting, for the first time, the fact that she was not only apparently friends _with_ Loki, but that she totally wanted to do very bad things _to_ Loki. It really was all too much. The room spun with the sounds and colors of the revelry, and she shoved off from the cool faux-marble, staggering unsteadily off to the bank of elevators.

A leering group of self-important movers and shakers slid into the enclosure with her, their flat gazes and shark smiles crowding her more than the noxious combination of their colognes. Something about them made the hair on her arms stand up on end, and it was hard to remember that they couldn't take the elevator very far before JARVIS's security protocols kicked in and stopped it. 

“Looky what we have here, boys,” one of the slithery Manhattan brokerage firm creatures intoned with a menace she was so unfortunately now familiar with.  _Look what we have here_ , one of the black-clad nightmares had said as it knelt to peer into her little hidey-hole, before -

She should feel fear. Ordinarily, she was pretty sure she’d be relatively terrified, what with the major rhohypnol vibe these guys were giving off. Instead, she didn’t seem to have any of that left. She’d spent every bit of it, willy-nilly, all at once, just a few days ago. All Darcy felt a curious coldness settle in her bones. She fingered the little clutch, wondering how many of them she could tase before she ran out of juice, if it would be enough…

The elevator dinged as it slid to a stop, doors opening with a soft sigh and a friendly reminder from JARVIS to not forget to get their parking validated.

Loki was there, eyes alight and face utterly cold like she’d only seen once. The besuited scumbags scoffed as they exited, some parting with mumbled remarks that Darcy was pretty sure would have pissed her off if she’d been in her right mind. At any other moment she might have questioned the relief she felt at being alone in his presence. She didn't even know how he'd beaten them up to this floor, and despite her generally curious nature, she found that she didn't much care. 

Since she should probably say something, she went with the word she’d spoken to him every morning since he’d shown up in the lab, the word she’d croaked when he’d found her reclining on a stretcher a week ago. ( _Whywhywhy had she thought a party was a good idea? In hindsight it seemed so ridiculous._ )

“Hey.” 

“Do you have need of further assistance?” he asked, and holy shit, was she sick of being strong. It would be so easy to say yes.

He wasn’t all bad, maybe. Sometimes. On occasion. Still, “I didn’t need your help.” It wouldn't do to let him have an even bigger advantage than he already had.

Loki glanced down, saw her fingering the taser, and grinned, “Of that, I have no doubt.” He bowed, straight up folded at the waist in a crisp, antiquated gesture she’d only ever seen in movies and pressed the button to her floor, before looking at her from under his absurd eyelashes, “Good night, Darcy Lewis.”

He stepped off the elevator.

"Hey, Loki?" He stopped and turned around with an expression of bland politeness. Darcy dredged up a smile from some inner reservoir she hadn't known she had. "Thanks. For everything."

She tried not to notice how his smile stretched into something predatory, how sharp his teeth were.


	75. So, Here's The Thing (Episode 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to split this one up, too. Mostly because the bit after this is taking me forEVER to proof since I had a general disregard for the way the English language actually works when I was writing it, apparently. (Tenses? What tenses? I don't need no stinking tenses!)  
> In any case, love you and hope you enjoy.

So the thing about Tony Stark is that sometimes he comes into the lab to butt in. Tinkering, he calls it. Darcy calls it a giant pain in her ass, since Stark is less inclined to perform the basics of self-care than even Jane when in the throes of _Science!_

Some days she can tell he's bruised and stiff; chewing Tylenol like tic-tacs, popping a few at a time, grinding them up with his teeth and swallowing the bitter powder dry. It grossed Darcy out every single time. As she stood in her bathroom, in front of her mirror, she wondered if she should try it.

It's possible not eating more of the tiny foods being passed around on trays yesterday was something of a mistake. She probably also shouldn't have had so much champagne. Really, what she should have done just stayed home. She wouldn't be contending with this noxious hangover if she had done any of those things. Good ChoicesTm was definitely something she should be working into her repertoire more often.

The two horse pills in her hand should take the edge off, so she popped them and used her hand to scoop tepid water from the tap into her mouth. One of the enormous pills lodged uncomfortably in her throat, no matter how much she swallowed. She sighed heavily, because while her bed was calling rather insistently, the pill/throat thing was something that demanded attention urgently. Darcy padded into her kitchen and opened the fridge for some juice.

The juice dribbled down her chin as she gulped it down, splashing down her chest, but she didn't care. _Sweet, life giving nourishment._ Her enjoyment was cut short by a knock on her door. Setting the carton aside, Darcy wondered if she could get away with not answering.

"Loki is at the door, Ms Lewis. Shall I grant him access?" JARVIS piped up from the speakers in the ceiling.

"I have excellent hearing, Darcy Lewis. I know you're awake in there."

 _Shit_.

She looked down at herself, lifted a hand to rub her very much still aching head, felt the tangled remnants of last night's hair style, and thought, _well fuck it._ Maybe he'd change his mind and go elsewhere if she opened the door looking deranged. First things first, though, since she believed seeing her quarry was a Good Choice Tm , what had she done with her glasses? 

She found them on the coffee table, and settled them on the bridge of her nose as she opened the door.

Loki looked like he'd had a refreshing sleep and a recent shower, skin practically dewy and hair damp. _Dick_.

He gave a crooked little grin at the sight of her and held out a cup from the beverage dispenser in the break room upstairs. She revised her earlier thought, _not dick, savior_. The smell of coffee wafted in her nostrils, and Darcy made grabby hands for the cup.

"Is that for me?"

He nodded and let her snatch the cup away to take a long whiff of the steam curling through the little hole in the plastic lid.

"Funny how your order is never anything less than perfect," he said, and she goggled at him.

It's too early in the day for teasing.

She gave him a slightly embarrassed smile, "Yeah, funny. Ha. Thanks and come in, I guess."

And then it hit her that, holy God, she was basically a wet t-shirt contest in the making, her boxers were definitely threadbare and she had only just put on her glasses, so she hadn't really been able to see her face in the mirror earlier. She couldn't remember washing said face last night, so. Yeah. She was probably in slept in make up, too. 

Loki eyed the carton of orange juice still sitting on the counter as he sauntered in. Then he eyed the mess of the living area. He didn't eye her chest, which she begrudgingly gave him props for mentally. He also didn't even actually have to sneer at her slovenly ways for her to feel it. She'd meant to clean up today, later, after the pills had kicked in and normal human functionality had returned. Darcy took a fortifying swig of coffee before she set it on the coffee table and shoved several weeks worth of clothes off the couch. 

"Sorry, I haven't felt up to cleaning since the, uh, thing in the lab. Have a seat. If you want. Or you know, keep standing there, all, uhm," her hands fluttered up involuntarily to emphasize the words _yummy_ and _delicious_ , and she clapped one over her mouth, because it was running away from her. Some things were better left unsaid.

She let her hand drop, "Excuse me, I'm just going to go put on -," _a hairshirt after I flagellate myself_ , "a robe."

Her smile was patently false as she started backing towards her bedroom. Loki just looked faintly amused as he gracefully lowered himself into her couch and struck an elegant pose, arm slung across the back and one leg crossed perfectly over the other at the knee. 

There was something about the way he looked at her, an unvoiced judgment, that made her cheeks heat with embarrassment. _You have been weighed, judged and found wanting_. Darcy turned and nearly slammed her door shut in her haste to escape that gaze. _Focus_ , she told herself, _focus_. Analyzing and criticizing every single thing that had happened since last night could come at a later time. After she had politely ushered Loki on his merry way. 

Her robe was crumpled in a ball, covered in dusty, icky, indeterminate _stuff_ , so it was clearly out of the running. Darcy cursed her lack of interest in housekeeping, shrugging out of her tee and struggling into a sports bra. Her Culver hoodie wasn't filthy, and a pair of her yoga pants passed the sniff test. Her hair was a lost cause without taking the time to wash it, so she pointedly ignored it and avoided the mirror on her way back into the living room.

Loki sat exactly where and how she'd left him, languishing on the couch in a sprawl that emphasized the length of his limbs. _Damn him and his pretty eyes._

The coffee beckoned from the coffee table, so Darcy crossed the room and gingerly lowered herself opposite Loki and grabbed for the cup. She could avoid conversation for at least a minute by sipping slowly. Finally, it became clear he could absolutely wait her out. 

"So..." Darcy said, drawing out the word in a last ditch attempt to get Loki to start the conversation. He didn't take the bait. "What's up? Don't think I've seen you on a weekend before."

The urge to kick herself was immediate. Of course she hadn't seen him on a weekend. He had a _life_ , surely. She barreled onward, "I mean, was there something I can help you with?" Darcy tried for a smile, and was less than successful.

Loki seemed to be looking at her face, but she couldn't catch his eye. Did she have something smeared on her cheek? She rubbed under her face and checked the tips of her fingers. Nothing. Whatever it was was likely stuck there. Fantastic.

"I find myself at a crossroads. I am to stay here indefinitely, and I was fine with that, fine with avoiding tainting myself with mortal foolishness, but now... I am more free to roam, a bit, at least. I suppose I must learn a bit more about this place and how it works if I am to stay out of a cell. I can't quite figure out how to start, though." His eyes finally drifted back to hers and the plea she found there took her by surprise.

"So?" Darcy prompted, wondering absently many times she could use that word before Loki's left eye started twitching. Usually four times and he got antsy.

The muscles in his jaw flexed, and she imagined she could hear the sound of his teeth grinding. Score one for her. 

"I might see fit to offer a favor were you to offer some guidance about the culture here." It wasn't a question, or a request, even if it had some of the basic components of one. 

 _Dandy_ , she thought. _Just dandy_.


	76. So, Here's The Thing (Episode 3: The Besmuttening)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning dear, gentle readers: There's a cock and cunt ahoy.

So, the thing was, _what even is Earth? Culture?_ What were his expectations, his goals with this exercise? Did he expect her to provide some sort of book; _Darcy Lewis's Guide to Earth: How Not to Behave Like a Total Shit Bag_?

It was a pickle. And not one of the delicious, crunchy ones that came from her favorite deli, a limp one. Very little was more disappointing than a sad, limp pickle, as far as she was concerned. A train of thought which naturally led to musings on the rigidity of Loki's ... ehr, pickle. _Fuck_. 

This was obviously a problem.

She really had tried to wrestle her wayward hormones back into their little box, attempted to put the kibosh on her unfortunate attraction to Loki. It just didn't seem to stick. Her tongue still wrapped around itself, garbling her words. She still found herself blushing for no good reason. 

She hated it. Loathed every second.

It was that it had seemed to have been such a sincere request, like an honest-to-goodness desire to learn about his new home. She couldn't very well _not_ offer up her time and "expertise". Probably because she was a total _sucker_ , but that was neither here nor there.

At first, it had been hard to pin down how to go about this endeavor. How to pick apart the pieces of her world into something teachable, but she is nothing if not interested in media of all types. And he definitely ( _desperately_ ) needed some sort of framework to use when dealing with Earthlings, or he'd keep making shitty, stupid mistakes. Which was actually how she figured out where to start. 

_You wanna know why how you handled that thing in Germany was so wrong? No? Well, that sucks for you. Here's a primer on World War 2. I'll see you in a couple of days. If you're still up to learning about my culture, you'll do some research. When we meet next, you'll be able to pinpoint exactly where you went wrong and tell me why your little show of strength was so offensive._

Darcy had never been sincerely religious, and,  _sure,_ it had been a while since she'd been to temple, but she's Jewish.

She's seen the videos of him in that square in Germany; _Kneel!_ Darcy has seen the memes and manips and gifs, but what she remembers best isn't the _You bet I'll kneel for you Daddy_ posts. She remembers the old man getting back up and refusing to heed Loki, his assertion that Loki was one of many autocrats. That there will always be someone like him that people will stand up to. She remembers thinking about that, and how much she hoped she, too, would one day have the courage to do the same. 

So, here's the thing:

Maybe the only thing she could teach Loki was how not to be a complete bag of shit. And maybe that's exactly what he needs.

* * *

He'd actually made some incisive observations about World War 2. Some of them he made while pointedly not looking at her, which was odd and awkward, though she'd be a liar if she didn't admit that part of her was pleased at his reaction. _Good, he should be ashamed._

What surprised her was that it was clear a lot of his research hadn't come from any of the books on her rather extensive list of recommendations. It made her cautiously optimistic that he actually did have an interest in learning, in growing, and that it wasn't just a play, part of some plan to manipulate her, and by extension, all of them.

When he asked about her faith, she hedged a bit, uncomfortable baring a part of herself she rarely even acknowledged. Instead of tackling it dead on, she went sideways at it, loading texts from all sorts of religions onto his StarkTab. That night, they talked for hours about the nature of self, of faith.

( _The guy was a beast of a reader, on top of everything else, easily digesting several texts at once. Darcy hadn't quite convinced herself she wasn't jealous of this ability, but she was working on that._ )

Tonight they were discussing the Cold War, so she'd gotten a recipe for borscht from Natasha and a Russian vodka to wash it down. The movie was a Cold War, nuclear fallout doomsday flick([*](https://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/day_after/)) that always left her feeling maudlin and slightly sick, and she steeled herself as they sat down to watch it.

When it was over, Loki scrutinized her closely, "It affects you, even when you know it's fiction and never came to pass?"

Darcy scrubbed her eyes and got up to fetch the food, ignoring his question.

It wasn't that his tone had been particularly rude, or that his question had come out of leftfield, but her reaction was an emotional response she had a hard time pinning down to explain. She knows her reaction to the movie is silly to some, but the experience of watching it, consuming it, sits in her gut like a stone. It's the thought that it could so easily have happened. Could still happen. Easily, with the right people in power, with the right confluence of events. She shuddered.

The smell of food, the very thought of eating turned her stomach suddenly. Darcy stopped in her tracks to beg off for the rest of the night, only to find Loki standing right there, crowding into her space. 

There's a breath of a pause, before his arms come around her, the side of her face pressed into the hard planes of his chest. It's cooler than she imagined, and he smells like pine and winter.

For a second, she let herself enjoy it.

Then she pushed away from him, "I'm fine."

Loki didn't look convinced.

Darcy smiled wanly, "We'll just have to finish this up some other time." She didn't make it a request, wasn't able to put together any explanation but, "I'm not feeling so hot right now."

The expectation she had was that he would leave without a second thought, but he lingered, hovering awkwardly just out of reach. He's one of those people who doesn't fidget without a purpose, an audience to play to. Someone who, unlike her, doesn't tap his feet, doesn't smooth his hair back or twitch with nerves. He is, generally speaking, stillness personified. Except now, and she watched as he ran a hand through his hair, ruining the perfection of the style. 

"Certainly," he said, shifting on his feet, as if trying to figure out how to make them move.

Darcy made for the door before she had a chance to recall any of those thoughts that crowded in on those lonely, long nights. Before she had a chance to delude herself into believing any of them could actually happen. She pretended like she won't replay the moments she'd just spent wrapped awkwardly in his arms again and again. 

It had been too long since she'd been with anyone else. That was the only reason she was being like this; simple, horrible, biological imperative. It could have been anyone, really. ( _He was Loki, villain or hero, and neither. Almost human, but not really. Not how it counted._ )

Darcy hesitated with her hand on the knob. Loki invaded her personal space again, and this time she saw it coming and could have avoided it, but she didn't. She let him sidle in close.

Because the thing was, Darcy really _liked_ him. Loki was rude, he was dismissive, he was so fucking smart and sometimes she could see, plain as day, that he cared more than he'd like. He was beautiful and deadly, and when he leaned in she responded. Her hand pressed up against his jaw, her heels lifted off the floor and her weight shifted onto her toes.

She telegraphed her intentions, gave him ample opportunity to move or express any reservations. Instead, he allowed it. He let her lips touch his, let her breath wash over his face. His posture was rigid, almost as wooden as his mouth felt against hers. Sighing, she dropped down and away, letting go, tried not to feel that giant well disappointment open in her chest.

Darcy had read the signs wrong after all.

One second she was poised to speak, to offer the sort of awkward words she hoped would smooth over the situation, words like _mistake_ and _didn't mean to offend_ and _sorry_.

His lips on hers stop the imminent flow, stop thought altogether. The sudden frantic pressure was all that she'd hoped - more even - because his hands lifted her and she felt the strength she guessed at but never thought to experience so viscerally.

The scramble, a mad clash of teeth and tongue and hands clawing for purchase took Darcy's breath away. She'd never expected this mutual urgency, and cloth tears in the not-silence of her apartment, buttons pinging as they land on the floor. She gasped into his mouth as he slid inside her wet cunt, the sounds of their joining obscene without her habitual music to cover them up.

His breath was hot on her face, his body was cool under her fingers and she'd never felt so much like she was on fire. Darcy wondered if Loki could feel it, if he liked it, and takes his low grunts as proof that he does.

He's so hard and long inside her, and if she hadn't been so into it, it might have hurt. Maybe it will later, tomorrow, but it was a problem she'll handle later, when he's not pounding irrational joy into her muscle and bone. Her orgasm was a bright burst of light and clenching, clutching glory. She held him tight inside and against her. 

Then it was over, and she was standing on her own two feet, breathing heavier than she did after a workout. His chin rested against her forehead as his chest expanded and contracted with each of his breaths.

So here's the thing: she's doomed, and she doesn't even care. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure I captured how dichotomous Loki makes Darcy feel, but I TRIED. And thus concludes the 3 part So, Here's The Thing. Now with 100% more dick.
> 
> ETA: that movie is real, and depressing. The Day After, if you've a yen for early 80's nuclear winter.


	77. Violets Are Not, In Fact, Blue

"Mother of fuck!" her shout rings out in the gym like a shot. "I don't care what you say, you son of a motherless goat, my arm doesn't need to bend like that. I'm fine never lifting anything over my head ever again."

Darcy is not a model patient, and her rehabilitation has been painful for everyone involved. Which is actually why he's here, instead of trying to find a date for the upcoming horror show, Valentine's Day. She'd pissed off one too many therapists, and he'd stepped into the fray. He really needed to learn to mind his own business.

Sam cocked his head to the side and glared right back at her, "I'm doing you a favor. I do not need to be here. Check yourself."

She gives a sigh so deep he hears a faint popping in her collarbone, "Sorry, Sam. It's just, it hurts, alright? I mean getting shot was bad enough, but this is freaking torture. Are we almost done?"

"You want to use those fancy little knives of yours at some point, right?"

Her expression goes all hang-dog for a second, and he can see the mental calculation of pros and cons she performs in her head before she grips the bar with the weights and pulls. "When you're right, you're right," she concedes with a huff.

Sam is about to answer that he's always right when the gym goes quiet. Without turning to look around, he already knows that this is the last thing he needs. Trying to get Darcy to cooperate was hard enough without adding a Loki-sized distraction. "Herding cats" seemed to describe what he was in for. 

"Breathe," Sam said, when he saw her staring and blushing. God give him strength.

* * *

Later, when Valentine's Day rolled around, he reflected that he really, _really_ needed to learn to mind his own damned business. 

Loki didn't need to know that it was Valentine's Day. Ignorance was bliss, after all. But noooo. Sam had gone and opened his big mouth when Loki had asked why there was such a dearth of flowers around the building. "Oh, people give flowers, bad poetry, or chocolates, sometimes teddy bears to their, you know... significant others. Some people say it's sweet, but it's really just a commercial Fuck You to everyone single."

The look of distaste on Loki's face was nearly comical. "Sounds loathsome. How long does this event last exactly?"

"A _day_ , as the name implies."

Loki grinned like he'd gotten a compliment, rather than a sarcastic rejoinder. No wonder he and Lewis got along so well. Sam ignored the look, and glanced around the office, so colorful and full of allergens. Even _Romanov_ had scored a couple dozen red roses. He wasn't jealous, not per se. 

"It would be nice, though," Sam mused, unintentionally voicing a private thought.

"What?" Loki asked.

Sam was startled, not realizing that he'd spoken in the first place. "Huh?"

"What would be nice?" Loki exaggerated the words, slowing them down to purposely irritate. It was a move Sam recognized from growing up with big brothers. He'd used it himself more than occasionally. Still, he could be honest. It wasn't like Loki _cared_. 

"Getting flowers from someone."

"Ah," came the perfectly flat response, as if that cleared everything up.

"It'd be nice, that's all." And maybe he was a bit defensive, "You know, not being the loser in the office who never has gotten so much as a card delivered. Valentine's Day is shit. It is. I know that. I just..."

"Want flowers?"

Sam sighed and looked down at his cup of coffee. "Maybe next year, right?"

"Right."

* * *

Wing testing was always a mix of terrifying and exhilarating. On one hand, he could die if even one thing was wrong, on the other: flight! Soaring effortlessly, gliding like the falcon he'd taken his name from. It was worth it in the end. 

As he came back from this round of successful tests, he was feeling much better about himself. So what? He didn't have someone to get flowers from, but he was a certified flying BAD ASS. Things were good. 

He swung by his desk on his way to the break room, intending on dropping off a preliminary report on the performance indicators of the new set of wings, and was taken aback by the bouquet of flowers sitting there. 

Sam played it cool, like he wasn't psyched to see them, and reached for the card.

_Roses are red, violets aren't blue, they're violet, it's right there in the name! Who came up with this insipid rhyme? In any case, have some flowers, since you like them so well. There, now you aren't the sad sack who never gets anything for this wretched event._

_Darcy says she knows a nice man she can set you up with later in the week. She'll give you his number at the gym tonight._

_Never say I never did anything for you._

_-L_

It was impossible to explain why a truly ugly bouquet of Technicolor daisies made him laugh like a braying hyena. Even with the note who would possibly believe him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This came about because of the comments in chapter 73 (SweetSygin & gladheonsleeps comments made me sit down and think about who else Loki would consider giving flowers to besides his mother) and a phone call my SO got from his BFF day before yesterday: "Happy Valentine's Day, bro!"  
> 


	78. You Eat It

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WiFi at work was fucked all day, and then I was stuck in traffic for HOURS. So I couldn't post until now.

They had developed a habit of _accidentally_ meeting for lunch. And somehow, Darcy had started _accidentally_ ordering enough for three. (She'd deemed his food choices up to that point  _sad_.) Loki had never had guessed that _humans_ enjoyed such varied cuisine. (He was learning - trying to learn - to check his privilege. It involved, among other things, proper nomenclature for his fellow sentient beings. It was quite possibly the hardest thing he's ever done.)

Some days Darcy was full of conversation and a vivacity that left him a little breathless on occasion. This was not one of those days. She was quiet. Twitchy. Unsmiling. It was unnerving. He eyed her over the enormous monstrosity she was stuffing into her mouth like she hadn't eaten in decades. 

"What are you looking at?" she asked, wiping her chin with one of the napkins piled next to her elbows, which she'd propped on the table. 

He smiled, knowing it would irk her. "You."

Her mouth went crooked for a moment before she cracked a grin that crinkled her eyes at the corners under her glasses. She slid a crumpled bag across the table at him. "Eat."

"What is it?" Loki asked after unpacking the bag and the box it contained. He gave the towering sandwich-type item a wary poke.

"A burger," she responded around a mouthful of food. "You eat it. Yum. Good."

"It's an American institution," the Captain piped up, as he walked by. Always full of the most _helpful_ comments, that one. 

"Oh goody," Loki responded, and poked it again. It looked singularly unappetizing, dripping with oozy, yellow stuff and grease. There was no way that single green leaf wilting under the bread made it healthy. None. "So," he said, resolving to ignore the unappealing _burger_ , "what's this I've heard about Valentine's Day?"

Darcy coughed, and a chunk of half-masticated food went flying, "Fuck. Who told you about Valentine's Day?" 

"Sam Wilson."

She groaned. "Well, poop. I was hoping you'd remain ignorant of that little tradition."

"Why?"

"Because I didn't want you to get the wrong idea about, you know, uhm," she glanced around, and lowered her voice, "us."

Loki was perplexed, "In what fashion?"

"Well, if I got you something, I don't want you to feel like there's an expectation, or an obligation, or... something. It seemed easier to ignore it than to make it feel like we're official."

Which was in no way clarified anything for him, but it seemed important, "Officially what, exactly?"

"More than friendly," and she turned a lovely pink.

Though he quite enjoyed making her blush, he sensed that she'd likely be more comfortable discussing whatever she was dancing around saying in private. "Sam wants flowers," he said, instead of pursuing the plethora of questions he had about the curious mating rituals of humans. 

"Yeah?" Darcy asked, and seemed relieved. "Actually, I can do something about that. Creepy Rudy gave me a bouquet, and well, he's creepy, so I was was going to chuck 'em in his trash after lunch, but maybe Sam would like them."

"He seems lonely," Loki recalled their conversation earlier, how wistful Sam had seemed looking around at the variety horrifying displays of affection. Why a teddy bear, he wondered. What could possibly be romantic about a stuffed mockery of an apex predator?

"Who? Creepy Rudy?" Darcy had forsaken the burger in favor of reaching into yet another bag.

" _Sam Wilson_. Focus, Darcy." He knew she could handle _Creepy Rudy_ on her own, but there was a large part of him that wished she would let him do it for her. 

She stuck one of the curiously named, but delicious French fries in her mouth and chewed thoughtfully, "I can't believe what I'm hearing. _You_. Showing a measure of interest in someone without some sort of personal gain. That's some real growth there. Bravo, dude."

He rolled his eyes at her, "Tell no one."

"Actually, I met a guy waiting in Pepper's lobby not too long ago. He seemed nice, not like a _Nice Guy_ , just nice. Articulate, well-dressed, handsome, just moved to New York. He friended me on Facebook and we've chatted about how awful dating in New York is."

"Sometimes conversing with you is a like trying to read a map without a legend. Back to the flowers."

"Just swing by my desk, swap out the card for one of the ones I keep in my desk, and boom. Done and done. Tell'm I'll give him that number tonight at the gym."

He was tempted to kiss her. But he didn't. He could wait. 

On occasion, he supposed, good things did come to those who waited. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's this wonderful woman at my job who keeps a variety of greeting cards in her desk, and she keeps track of everyone's birthdays and what not and leaves them on your desk to find when the day rolls around. Kinda basing the card drawer on her. Definitely kind of. Lol. 
> 
> Anywaaaay, just wanted to thank you all for letting me write for you, and keeping me in comments and kudos. It's been a YEAR. A WHOLE FUCKING YEAR. And it's all because you all are so kind and gracious and wonderful. Seriously. All the love. Wind beneath my wings and all that jazz. I have said it before, but it bears repeating, I have literally the best commenters on the internet. I don't know what i did to deserve you, but I appreciate you so very much.


	79. Crotch-tacular

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is honestly just entirely dialogue and completely ridiculous.
> 
> My only excuse is that lack of sleep is bringing out the weird in me.

"You can't go outside, in public like that."

"Why? It's not as if I'm wearing my horns or armour."

"You just can't."

"Is the conveyance not enclosed?"

"Yes, but there _are_ windows, and we're going to be stopping on occasion."

"But why does that matter?"

"You look like you're cosplaying Loki. Like some weirdo basically. This trip is contingent on us blending in."

"I am not entirely certain exactly what that first bit means, but I am sure I do not. And for some reason, I feel it necessary to point out, I am Loki."

"Yeah, yeah, burdened with glorious purpose. Just do the shimmery thing and make yourself over into someone who looks like you wearing jeans and a sweater."

"I absolutely will not. As if I would be caught dead in anything so common."

"You won't be comfortable in a suit, but I guess it's better than that half obscene Goblin King getup you've got going on. Come on. I'd like to leave sometime this century, if you don't mind."

"Half obscene?"

"Oh, please. You know exactly what those pants do to your crotch."

"Where did you say we were going, again?"

"I didn't. We're going where the wind blows us."

"You're not serious."

"No, of course I'm not. Like Director Hill would let you go anywhere without a dozen contingency plans and alternate routes all mapped out and a full escort in tow. I can't actually believe she's letting us do this at all, honestly. Now, shake your tail feathers. Chop-chop. Quickly, before she changes her mind."

"Better?"

"Not bad. Just let me... there. That's perfect."

"What is on my head, Darcy?"

"A hat. It's cold out, and the RV's heat only works in the sense that it makes a lot of noise and sort of distracts you from the fact that you're freezing."

"I know it's a hat. Why are there ears on it?"

"Because it's awesome."

"So my pants - which were perfectly tailored, just so you are aware - were unacceptable, but this... what animal, Darcy? From what animal are the ears on this ridiculous hat I am wearing on my head right now supposed to come?"

"... A horse. Here, I have matching hoof mittens, too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know the pants I'm talking about.
> 
>  
> 
> From the tumbr [Lokismonstercrotch](http://lokismonstercrotch.tumblr.com/post/7680298823)
> 
> This gif will never not crack me up.


	80. On the Road Again - If Only I Didn't Have to Go On the Road Again

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well that was an unexpected delay. The muse was distracted for a while and yknow, am just super, hella depressed on top of it. Whatever. I DID MOAR THING, HUZZAH. 
> 
> (Sorry for reappropriating and mangling Willy Nelson lyrics for the chapter title. No one is safe from my sticky fingers.)

Bruce wasn't exactly thrilled to have been volun-told to go on this "mission", but he supposed that options were a bit thin on the ground. He just had to keep his cool.

It was like Tony had said: Who did you call when you had problems with ghosts? Ghostbusters. Who did you call when you wanted to remind a very powerful alien that he wasn't the toughest motherfucker around, and to behave? Bruce. Or Bruce's alter-ego. 

At least the RV was such a rattling deathtrap he wouldn't be able to hear Loki speak, as long as he remained up in the cockpit area with Darcy Lewis, Dr Foster's... he wanted to say intern, but that wasn't right. Assistant, maybe? Not that it mattered really, as long as she kept Puny God suitably distracted.

He watched impassively as the astrophysicist and Lewis made their goodbyes. The doctor looked unsettled, but why she was could be any number of reasons. Lewis smiled and patted Dr Foster's arm, clearly attempting to soothe.

She wasn't all bad, he supposed. She'd fed him, on occasion, when he'd partnered with Dr Foster on some sticky science thing or another. Dr Foster was fantastically smart, but by all appearances fairly codependent on Darcy Lewis to keep her, well, alive. And Darcy had apparently had the presence of mind to flip the breaker to the quantum regulator when HYDRA had attacked, so she wasn't opposed to putting herself in harm's way in order to keep everyone alive. 

He just didn't understand why she got her way in this. So what, she didn't like to fly. Bruce didn't particularly enjoy turning into a green rage monster either, but you didn't see him whining about it. He didn't understand the point of arguing for the privilege to drive out to New Mexico to meet up with Jane after her conference in Vegas, with a hyper-intelligent, semi-reformed super villain. Who, rumor had it, she had the bad taste to be dating. 

Was that even a word that was applicable in this scenario? _Dating_?

How did you _date_ the Scourge of New York? 

Bruce had broken _Harlem_. 

He'd had the sense to keep in his pants since then.

He shook his head, trying to concentrate on the equations he was working on.

He couldn't change the situation he was in. He just had to accept it, and breathe through the anger. He was good at that.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Bruce _did_ have emotions other than anger. For example, he has been in love before. Still is, actually, which might be why he's so taken aback by the way Loki gazes at Darcy while her attention is (mostly) on the road. It's a look Bruce recognized. He can't hear what she's saying over the noise of the engine and the blaring music, but it's clear that Loki is enthralled by whatever it is. 

Loki mumbled something inaudible to Darcy, who practically hoots with laughter - loud enough to be clearly heard - and the glance she bestows on Loki is so warm, so loving, Bruce is momentarily taken aback, and finally understands why she'd fought so hard to have this time in a semi-road-worthy deathtrap of a vehicle.

Something like shame stirs in his chest, like he's a voyeur peeping in a moment he shouldn't have been privy to. Hunger and thirst be damned, he was going back to his studies to pretend like he hadn't just witnessed something he could almost relate to from Loki. 

* * *

It was dark when he next became aware of his surroundings. There a small sense of pride that he'd managed this much of this ill-conceived road trip without an incident. 

His fingers were pretty much dead, though. Didn't the heat in this ancient junker work?

The answer was, naturally, no. The heat had likely been nonfunctional since the late 90's, when Jane's Gran was still alive, and did that mean he was voting motel for the night rather than camping out in the RV?

If there was a choice, of course he'd go for a bed in a stationary dwelling every single time, he wasn't a complete fool. That said, they were supposed to keep a low profile, which meant sleeping in the RV and/or tents was probably more discrete. In the end, they stopped at a park that had been aggressively circled in red on their company approved travel plans. 

As they drive up the road - a dark and misty road, very atmospheric - Bruce gripped the backs of the seats tightly as he observed their progress. Finally, the reason Darcy was driving so slowly became clear; there was a metal gate chained shut across the road.

With a squeak and a shudder, the RV came to a stop. Darcy put the beast in park, unbuckling her seat belt and winding a colorful scarf around her neck before she opened the door and hopped down. The wind whipped cold talons through the opening and Darcy practically shuddered at the temperature. 

"You just had to play the perfect company stooge and choose the camping, didn't you, Dr Banner?" 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I. Am. Going. To. Finish. This. 
> 
> (It's just going to take a while.)
> 
> I've been in a really weird place for a few months now, and I know I haven't been answering reviews like I used to, but please don't take it to mean that I don't appreciate them. I do, very much. You're the best group of readers a writer could ask for, and all I can say is thanks so very much for being excellent. Xo


	81. Cozy and Huddled Together for Warmth

When Darcy gave Banner the bed in the back of the large vehicle they were driving across the country - well, she was driving, he was ostensibly "navigating", and Bruce Banner was doing whatever it was in the back - Loki was less than enthused. Camping had always been a favorite of Thor's, while Loki had a decided preference for a soft bed and civilized amenities like running water and commodes very nearby. It quickly became clear that this opinion wasn't likely to change on their little adventure.

The tent smelled. 

It was cold outside.

The toilet in their vehicle was... actually, it was best to leave that thought alone. 

Also, he'd become aware of two words that struck horror in his heart: _sleeping bags._

Not that Loki had a problem with _bags_ , per se. He was just of a mind that sleeping in one was unlikely to be conducive to getting actual rest. He was tall and had a tendency towards restless sleep, so being confined in a bag seemed less than ideal. Also, the prospect of sleeping on the ground, being poked by rock and root and who even knew what squirmed in the earth, was about as enticing as being beaten into the floor by the Hulk. Loki would know; he'd had that dubious privilege. 

Frankly, Loki was nearly 100% certain Darcy had lost her everloving, mortal mind. She said things like _cozy_ and _huddling together for warmth_ like they wouldn't have been cozy and huddled together for warmth on what passed for a mattress inside that atrocious vehicle. 

He stirred the fire he'd set while she was fiddling with the tent viciously enough to send plumes of sparks dancing skyward. Blessed Yggdrasil, she was even going to make him eat _hotdogs_ , a tube shaped food he'd heard Banner mumble were made of lips and assholes. She swore that being poked on a stick and roasted over open flame somehow made them palatable, delicious even. Loki was unconvinced.

Darcy sat down next to him with as much grace as a tree being felled, her expression chagrined. "Sorry, but I kinda forgot hotdog buns. We'll have to do without tonight. But we've got plenty of beans!"

Joy. Flatulence in a can.

While their dinner was hardly the stuff of culinary legend, he ate every bite, because Darcy seemed so happy to share the experience with him, and he'd do almost anything to keep that smile on her face. Besides, she'd promised him a 72 ounce steak at some point in their journey, and while he was still fuzzy on the unit of measurement, 72 of nearly anything food related was surely rather large. 

Banner declined to sing songs by the campfire, which was the best part of the whole camping experience, in Loki's opinion. In another universe, he might have enjoyed the life of a bard, but it had been years since he'd sung, and he suddenly felt unaccustomed nerves at the mere thought. He relented at Darcy's request, of course, surprised that the words and melody came back as easily as if he'd never stopped. The look of impressed surprise on Darcy's face was enough to mitigate the discomfort.

Later, when he'd finished singing the songs of his childhood, and they'd made and eaten surprisingly delectable s'mores, they retired to their tent. 

It occurred to him, as they settled into the sleeping bags Darcy had zipped together, that this was the first time he'd been _alone_ with Darcy. Granted, Banner was in the vehicle, but he'd been a mostly unobtrusive presence, focused nearly entirely on his work. Loki listened and didn't hear another person for miles. Darcy snuggled close, yawning.

"See," Darcy whispered, "it's cozy." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in a week! I feel so freaking accomplished right now, yo!


	82. Roadside Attractions and Tantrums

For someone who really wanted to share the spectacles of her country of birth with her... ( _boyfriend, lover, person she was fucking on the regular, what on earth does she call him, because none of those feel right)_ with _Loki_ , she hedged. Defining, _naming_ the thing could surely wait.

In any case, Darcy might've skewed a little too much to the weird. But on the other hand, Loki'd grown up in Space Vikinglandia, so he'd probably seen his share of breathtaking natural wonders, and * _fingers crossed_ * less of Butter Sculpture museums and "World's Biggest Lawn Chairs". She'd be lying if she said the bathrooms weren't a major part of what really attracted her, and probably also what stopped Dr Banner from forbidding the unauthorized sojourns in the first place, but still, the look of horrified amusement on Loki's face when he saw another piece of pure Americana hadn't yet failed to bring her joy. 

When the temperature gauge started spiking as they were travelling through a particularly flat part of Kansas, Darcy crossed her fingers and hoped against hope that they'd make it to a town, or at least somewhere with better cell reception. It was a futile hope. Soon they were losing speed and when steam erupted from the front, Darcy pulled over and gave in to the urge to bang her head against the steering wheel in frustration. Sure, she could probably diagnose pretty accurately what was wrong, but that wouldn't magically make the parts likely necessary for repair appear. 

Despite Darcy's assertion that she didn't need assistance, Dr Banner still shouldered her over for a spot under the hood to "take a look". He'd professed an interest in mechanical engineering, but he took one look at the engine and snorted derisively. How that much contempt could be conveyed without words was actually quite a skill, and one she generally would have associated with Loki. It made Darcy's territorial instincts rear up, as if he had personally offended her; _she_ could make fun of the RV - and it's engine held together by duct tape and hope - she had earned the right. 

The diminutive scientist definitely had hidden depths, and not just the one that turned him big and green. Darcy hadn't yet decided whether or not it was worth it to plumb them; his general demeanor of taciturnity a bit outputting, if understandable, though the assumption that she'd need his help figuring out what was going on with the RV was a bit insulting. Especially considering she was well-familiar with its many quirks. A glance had confirmed that the radiator hose had busted. Anyway, since more duct tape wasn't the answer, what she really needed was a signal.

She left the guys standing idly by the RV, busy ignoring each other with as much determination as either could muster. Meanwhile she meandered around up and down the road and through cornfields, holding her phone aloft and praying for bars. When that endeavor provoked fruitless, she clambered up to the roof and looked around for any signs of civilization. There weren't any. 

Thankfully, both Loki and Dr Banner were suitably distracted inside the RV when she returned groundside, so neither witnessed her short, but emphatic temper tantrum. There may or may not have been tire kicking involved, but there was definitely some creative swearing.

Just as Darcy was about to give up entirely and use the satellite phone given to her by Pepper for emergency purposes, a man pulled up in a tractor and offered to call AAA for her from his landline. It took a lot longer than she would have hoped, but eventually a tow truck trundled up the deserted road, and they were saved. 

Which is how they eventually came to be staying the night in a Motel Six at a no-name rest stop in the literal middle of nowhere. Explaining the delay to the higher ups hadn't been easy, but it wasn't as if Darcy could pull a radiator hose out of her ass, so concessions were made. Though camping the last two nights hadn't been as terrible as she'd imagined, the opportunity to sleep in a real bed with real facilities was welcome. The shower was the best she'd had in ages, despite the fact that the water had a sulphury smell well-water sometimes had. 

Dr Banner was holed up in the adjoining room, and since Darcy was paying for the room out of her own pocket, she asked him to forgo watching pay-per-views. This request had confused Loki adorably until Darcy chucked him the menu from the nightstand. With an entirely too serious expression, Loki reviewed it, while Darcy fed quarters into the slot next to the bed.

The bed had just started vibrating loudly when Loki said "Oh," comprehension clearly dawning, "but why would anyone pay for it? Isn't it available for free on the internets?"

Darcy laughed so hard she worried she might throw up the massive burger she'd eaten at the diner earlier. A warm flush of love welled up into her chest, oddly familiar. The words 'I love you' were on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't seem to make herself say them, instead running her hands through his remarkably soft hair when he laid down and put his head on her lap. 

"I quite like this bed," Loki told her, grinning with all the devilish charm he was capable of. "Shall we put it through its paces, darling?"

The endearment startled her, but felt right, somehow. Determined not to let the strange sense of deja vu unsettle her, Darcy nodded and threw the threadbare towel she'd wrapped herself up in across the room. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am highly amused by the thought of Loki seeing a butter sculpture of, say, Elvis. Likely too amused, but it's the little things in life.


	83. Did No One Think This Through? (The Answer May [Not] Shock You)

Thor wasn't supposed to show up in Las Vegas, but his lady had been nominated for an award, and he couldn't _not_ be there to celebrate her achievement. He was so proud of her, how smart and beautiful she was, how wonderfully kind and funny she was... so he'd come. And they had celebrated in the Midgardian fashion. Which was similar to the Asgardian fashion in that there had been a great deal of drinking. 

Beyond that, the details of the celebration were fuzzy and hazy. Jane whimpered from the rumpled sheets when someone knocked on the door, and Thor, recognizing the signs of a hangover, even if he wasn't currently suffering from one, didn't bellow for the person to go away. He got up to open the door and do so quietly.

He'd forgotten to put on pants, naturally, but nudity didn't bother him as it seemed to bother mortals. In all honesty, he failed to understand why humans put such stock in something as arbitrary as what sort of genitals one had, or didn't have, under one's clothing. It was quite mystifying. 

Darcy, to her credit, didn't even sputter when he opened the door with his not-so-little Mjolnir dangling quite proudly. She didn't even look down. Instead she noticed the one thing he was wearing, the thing that had escaped his notice; a ring. 

"Oh dear Fuck," Darcy screeched, loud enough to make Jane groan from the bedroom, "you didn't! I leave her alone for a few days and...THIS!"

Thor cocked his head, confused, "What?"

Darcy's head seemed incapable of not shaking, swinging side to side in an exaggerated expression of disbelief, and though Thor wasn't exactly hung over, the repetitive motion was making him a bit dizzy. 

"I cannot _believe_ you two fucking toolbags," Darcy exclaimed, sounding more and more like a tea kettle coming up to steam, and instead of clarifying what the issue was, she asked, "Where's Jane!?"

"Could you please shut up?" Jane called hoarsely from her nest of blankets in the other room. "I feel sick, and you're being way too loud."

"I am sorry, Lady Darcy, but my Lady Jane is unwell, perhaps you could return later...?"

At the sound of violent retching, Thor started to close the door, intent on assisting his love, but Darcy shoved her foot between the door and the jam. She reached in her purse and handed him a bottle of pills. "Give her two of these and make sure she drinks a lot of water. She won't want to, but make her finish at least two glasses before you let her have coffee. I'll be back in two hours, and then -" 

Thor nodded, and after scooting her foot out of the way, gently closed the door in her face. "I want answers!" Darcy shouted from the other side. 

 _Mortals_ , thought Thor, shaking his head, _he'd never understand them._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's hella short, and I probably should have done another chapter between this one and the last, but this is where the muse directed me. I can't argue with her.


	84. Overheard at the Buffet

Banner and Loki had been left to fend for themselves at the hotel's buffet while Darcy went up to the suite Jane had booked for the conference. For the first time in a long time, Loki felt somewhat at home; nearly everything had gold accents, there were decorative columns with absolutely no architectural value scattered around, there were murals and statuary galore and anything not covered in gilt was marble. As he glanced around the cavernous, ostentatious hall, he decided that he quite liked this Las Vegas, Nevada.

In the dining hall there were innumerable platters of food displayed alongside a bevy of flowers, intricately carved fruit resting in sculptures of ice, plus there was enough meat available to satisfy even the most eager of carnivore. The carpets were heinous, and one was required to fill ones own plate, but Loki supposed one couldn't have everything. 

After piling their plates with a mounds of hot and fragrant food, they sat at a table in a corner and placed an order for a carafe of coffee. 

The only thing to cast a pall on the occasion was the fact that Banner was hardly eating, instead sitting across from him and blatantly staring.

Eventually, after the coffee had been delivered by a suitably servile attendant, Loki could take the rudeness no more, "Why are you staring at me like that?" 

"Like what?"

Loki raised an imperious brow, "As if I've gone and piddled on the rug. I'd like to know why, when I've been nothing but a charming delight during this entire journey."

Banner snorted into his coffee, "You might have that nice girl tricked into thinking you've reformed, but I know you're hiding something. I haven't quite figured out what yet or how it ties into the data I have been collecting about tachyon spikes, but you can rest assured I will."

Loki blinked. (Mostly because he hadn't the foggiest what the good doctor was on about, but also because for once in his life he wasn't actively planning anything, nefarious or otherwise. It was a concept apparently known as a "vacation".)

Banner didn't.

Darcy chose that moment to reappear, flopping down in the seat next to Loki with the air of someone most put upon. 

"Coffee," she demanded. 

When neither complied quickly enough, she tapped a fingernail on the table, "Now."

Loki slid his cup over with a quickness. She took a generous sip and sputtered. "Ugh, would you like some coffee with that sugar, I mean holy shit, dude," she said, pulling a face. 

The attendant reappeared, bearing another cup, and Darcy face went from disgusted to grateful in .6 seconds. "Bless you," she told them, as they started to clear the empty plates before Banner and Loki. 

"What has you in a snit, darling?"

"Oh, this isn't a snit, _darling_ ," she responded after doctoring the coffee to her highly specific taste. She sighed audibly, tense shoulders drooping a bit after she took a sip. "This is bordering a freak out. I need bacon. Lots of bacon. Are you guys coming or not? Never mind, I'll just bring my purse," she said, vaulting back to her feet and practically sprinting for the steaming platters across the way. 

Loki looked at Banner in question, who had finally dropped the distrustful, suspicious glare and looked just as confused and mystified as Loki himself was. "Don't look at me, guy. She's _your_ girlfriend," Banner said, and walked off in the direction of what looked like pastries and baked goods.

The eggs had been quite satisfactory, so he got up to fill another plate, ruminating on the phrase _girlfriend_.

* * *

"So here's the thing about Las Vegas and Elvis," Darcy said sometime later, munching on a rapidly diminishing pile of the much-desired bacon. She'd refused to clarify what had caused her "freak out" (or even how it differed from a snit- personally, he saw no real difference), but since explaining random things was something she seemed to enjoy, he'd asked about the group of men dressed to resemble what appeared to be the same person as one of the sculptures from the (shudder) Butter Sculpture Museum and why the architecture here differed so much from the other places they'd visited. 

It took a full hour before she stopped her dissertation on the subject, which had included topics ranging from the socio-economic impact this _Elvis_ had had, especially in Las Vegas, to how Las Vegas was a fairly singular experience in the cultural landscape of Earth. (While 'What happened in Vegas, stayed in Vegas', apparently the consequences of even a few hours could include drunken matrimony*). Darcy also talked at length about specific examples of how Elvis had leveraged the work of a Woman of Color for profit, calling back to previous discussions about cultural appropriation.

(The wording had impressed him at the time; the articulation of a concept he was well-familiar with, but had lacked the vocabulary to name. His mother always said that naming a thing was important, made it real, gave it form. Loki supposed that he couldn't find fault with that logic.) 

Most intriguing of all to Loki was the status Elvis apparently still held as a sort of near deity. The man had drowned in his own vomit after having apparently achieved the highest level of status, the heights of wealth, but people loved him enough to make a living play-acting as him. Loki wondered what had inspired such devotion despite the obvious faults.

He might've regretted asking about Elvis or feeling any affinity for a city in Midgard in the first place, except that Darcy was a fascinating, passionate speaker, who clearly had a good grasp on the subject matter. Actually, she had a remarkable grasp on a great many things, and he ... loved that about her. 

"Thanks for letting me ramble," she finally said, "I needed to focus on something besides..." And there she stopped, taking off her glasses and rubbing the bridge of her nose.

Her phone dinged in her purse, and Loki finally noticed a distinct lack of the terrifying, tiny Midgardian Bruce Banner. No one would care if he leaned over and kissed her, but she sighed the sigh of the long-suffering and pulled out the device. 

Putting her glasses back on, she said, "Well, it was too good to last, I guess. Time to get back to reality. Let's see what horrors await." Her fingers were already flying across the screen of her device, her brow furrowing ever more comically. 

"Oh no," Darcy whispered, stricken. "No, no, no, no. She didn't, no, oh shit, she DID. How the fuck? She can't even change her ringtone, how did she...?" She set the phone down with a decisive bang. 

Darcy looked up at Loki with a stricken expression. "I wanted to wait for confirmation before I mentioned it, because I thought for _sure_ she wasn't that spontaneous, but based on what I just saw on Facebook, I'm pretty sure Jane and Thor kinda, sorta got married?"

It took a minute for the information to process through his brain, but Loki was quite certain he hadn't laughed as hard or as much for at least a century.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I almost made a joke in the last chapter note about run-on sentences, but this one wow. Holy commas and parentheses, Batman! Anyway, this one got tortured, seriously, very tortured in the four(teen) rewrites I did. I imagined it funnier, and it resisted all of my lame attempts. I'm posting it now because if I didn't, I wouldn't, and then we'd all be waiting for months while I tried to remove my thumb from my own ass. 
> 
> As always, much love to you all. You brighten my days in countless ways. 
> 
> *I know the rules have changed, but y'know... for the purposes of this fic... bla bla bla.


	85. That Racist Old Goat Can Suck It. Also, Mazel Tov

Tony Stark has seen some Shit. 

He's seen weapons his company built blow civilians and soldiers alike into hamburger. He's seen his friends close to death. He's seen the _end of the world_. 

Here's the thing about Tony Stark: even in the face of his nightmares, he will not quit - or maybe it's that he _can't_. Whatever it is that makes him keep on, is a blessing and a curse. Sure, he's wished for death, an easy way out. Sometimes he still does, but there are reasons to live. Generally in the form of Pepper, but it counts. Whatever gets him through the day. 

The point is, he's not prepared to be taken unawares again. He will not be blindly ignorant of the world around him anymore, but even he has to sleep, even if it's not a full eight hours a night. (He's never really been the type for a good nights sleep, but it's become even more difficult to find rest these days. Tony refuses to dwell on why.) Thankfully, he has JARVIS to help him keep tabs on all things, big and small. 

Still, when he'd heard about the convention/road trip, he'd assumed that any problems would come from the resident semi-reformed super villain. Hence Bruce Banner's involvement. He'd never dreamed that Jane Foster, of all people, would be the trouble maker. 

Tony crept out of the bedroom he shared with Pepper very early - way too early, before the sun was up - having been notified by JARVIS that a drunken Dr Foster had married her God of Thunder. Off he toddled in search of coffee, while checking the relevant Facebook feeds for the deets. Not that Tony cared what those two idiots did _per se_ , but he suspected that Papa Odin would. And that he would be less than pleased that his golden, favored son had up and hitched himself to a woman his father had compared to a farm animal. He couldn't think of a scenario in which this ended well.

Tired and longing for simpler days, Tony emailed his legal department. Where there any precedents for ill-advised Vegas marriages between royalty and normal people? Had any of the Asgardian contingent signed any legally binding reciprocity agreements with regard to matrimony or other legally binding contracts? 

Tony wasn't even sure if Thor had any rights to begin with. He knew Thor got a paycheck, but did the guy even have a bank account? These were perhaps questions that should have been answered some time ago, but, to be fair, Tony had had his mind on other things. 

In light of a possible intergalactic incident, Tony decided that it would be prudent to call everyone home to see how things shook out. Foster would probably be pissed that she wouldn't be able to go commune with the stars in the Nevada desert, or whatever she had planned to do out there in the middle of nowhere, but she'd brought it on herself. She could always go later, when the threat of an angry God come to smite them all down wasn't looming on the horizon. Better safe than smote. 

Settling a little now that he had a plan to enact, Tony glanced at the pictures JARVIS had collated of the night in question. If he hadn't been so worried about consequences, Tony might have been sorry to have missed the evening. It looked like they'd had a blast. As a present to commemorate the occasion, he decided to have one of the pictures from the ceremony blown up and framed.

Jane dressed as Han Solo gazing adoringly at an equally smitten-looking Thor in a white princess Leia dress while Darth Vader looked on in the background was too good of an image not to memorialize. He chuckled to himself as he tapped out a few texts. He couldn't wait to show Pepper. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, Happy Halloween everyone! Have fun and stay safe!
> 
> Secondly, huge thanks to Hurd, who gave me the idea about legal reciprocity and how "legal" that marriage actually was. 
> 
> Third, I imagine the chapter title is basically the first of a barrage of texts Tony sent Jane. 
> 
> Much love to everyone!


	86. Brick Shitting Commencing In...

"You're the royal, you have to be Leia!" Jane hooted from behind the camera, as a slightly blurry image of Thor wobbling on the screen of the phone Darcy held angled so Loki could also look. She had to be impressed that Jane had remembered that much of a movie she professed little interest in while sober. "I'm the scoundrel with the heart of gold, so. Y'know, I should wear the pants. Besides, I heard you look good in a dress." The view trembled and cut out as Thor's face went soft.

Loki, the complete shit, cannot contain himself. "Oh! How utterly delightful! The All-Father is going to be apoplectic. Shit bricks, is that the expression?"

Darcy nodded absently as she thumbed over to her text notifications. "Tony's pretty worried about this development. We were supposed to meet up with his private plane," she paused momentarily, checking the time, "hours ago. Shit. How fucked do you think we are, exactly?"

"Well, _we_ are not, at least not plausibly, but Thor and Jane? Highly, thoroughly fucked. In fact, I'm surprised... oops. Spoke too soon. Hello, Sif. Running errands for the old man, I see. Still hoping to get back into his good graces?"

Darcy recognized the tall brunette from the incident in Puente Antiguo. She'd been a friend to Thor then, had saved Darcy's life, but her face was hard and unyielding as she strode towards Darcy and Loki through the maze of tables and booths in the dining area they were still sitting in. Bruce could come in handy right now, all things considered, but he'd fucked off on the world's longest bathroom break at least an hour ago. 

"Where is he?" she asked Loki directly, ignoring Darcy as completely as if she wasn't even there. 

"To whom are you referring, dear Sif?" Loki smiled, a sharp baring of teeth, somehow both amused and derisive. He leaned back, arm circling Darcy's shoulders in a gesture that was somehow both protective and possessive.

"I've no time for your games, Loki. Where is Thor and that mortal?" she asked, annoyance clear in both her tone and posture.

Darcy's hackles went up, and she tried to shove Loki arm off herself, intent on taking this person down a peg or two. _That mortal? Oh, it is on._..

Loki chuckled, interrupting her tirade before she even took a breath to start, "I've no clue. Why? Is everything in Asgard quite well?" patently false ignorance fairly dripped from each word, while Loki blinked big, innocent eyes at the warrior.

She huffed, and with every passing moment, more and more people stopped to stare at the tableau they made. Loki, of course, preened and shifted subtly to make the most of his pose, while Darcy prayed that whatever internet magic JARVIS had performed to keep the media at bay following the wedding was still in effect. Just because she didn't see any cellphones pointed at them, didn't mean that they weren't being filmed. Sif seemed to notice the stir they were causing, glancing around surreptitiously, mouth turning further down from frown into scowl. 

"Loki, you must know that this egregious lapse in judgment cannot stand, that Thor must be made to see the error-,"

"I don't know who you think you are, lady, but," Loki squeezed Darcy's shoulder, just a little, enough of a warning that she settled back into a less offensive posture, "you should back the fuck off with that _mortal_ shit."

Sif didn't so much as blink, much less acknowledge that Darcy had spoken. Darcy liked her less by the second, and she was pretty sure it had nothing to do with internalized misogyny. 

"I knew coming to you would be pointless. Where is your brother?" her deceptively elegant hand suddenly rested menacingly on the hilt of her sword. 

Loki stood, fast enough that his thigh bumped the table, hard enough that the remaining plates and cups rattled. He left a hand on Darcy's shoulder, pressing her lightly into her seat.

He leaned over, breath hot against Darcy's ear, "Stay here. Tell them to hide," it was whispered so fast Darcy wasn't even sure it had actually happened, especially since he followed it up by walking over to Sif, hands lifted as if to calm her. "Come now, sweetling. There's no need for insults. You know as well as I do that I am in no way related to _that_. In all seriousness, though," his eyes widened, ludicrously sincere, "I had no idea he was even here."

Darcy watched, incredulous, as Loki hooked an arm through Sif's, and steered her towards the exit as Darcy stared after them. It was few moments before she regained her composure, before she was jumping out of her chair, shoving people out of the way to run towards the exit after them.  

It probably - _definitely_ \- wasn't one of her more inspired or intelligent ideas, but she couldn't help herself. A golden beam of light punched through the sky, and Darcy leapt the last few feet to Loki's side. The horrified expression on his face was only mildly terrifying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, so in Star Trek (the one with the whales is my JAM, yo!) tradition, I went ahead and jacked the old jump into the transporter beam idea. Because that's how I roll.
> 
> Also, I waffled hardcore on Sif being the errand runner for Odin. I actually like her! But for the purposes of this fic she's trying to get back into Odin's good graces, and has always been half in love with Thor, so she's not entirely happy about the wedding either. Idk. Whatever. It's done. Blargh.


	87. Home Sweet Home

There weren't words adequate to describe the stab of awful terror he'd felt when Darcy had jumped and clung to him at the last second, joining them on the unexpected journey back to Asgard.

On one hand, he wanted to rail at her, for surely she knew better than this idiocy, but on the other, some strange part of him had been halfway expecting it. He had a vague recollection of going through a scenario similar before, but wasn't a memory he should have had; it felt unreal and it didn't belong. Nonetheless, he knew that Darcy would always leap before she looked. 

Sif made a move to grab Darcy, but Loki stepped neatly between them. "There's no need for that, Sif," he said softly. Princes didn't plead, but he skirted that line. 

"We can't take her to the throne room, Loki," _you know that as well as I do_ , was implied if left unspoken. 

"I'm not leaving her."

Darcy seemed to collect herself; squaring her shoulders, trying valiantly not to goggle at the sight of a whole new world. "I am not leaving his side, unless he wants me to. I'm just not. So you either take us to your leader, or you can, I don't know, do whatever it is you people do with dissidents. Something whack, I'm sure, but whatever. I'll deal." She squeezed Loki's hand and glared up at Sif, and the approaching warriors. 

Loki could say this about Darcy with absolute certainty, she didn't lack for bravery. It filled him with warmth that she would spend it on him. 

Sif sighed and held up her hand at the guards that now surrounded them. "Seat them in a parlor, I'll speak with their Majesties. Post two guards at the doors, and not a word about this. Not to anyone. You there," Sif pointed at Darcy, "Wear this." She unbuckled her cloak and handed it to Darcy, who let go of his hand to put it on. "Give the Prince your cloak," she instructed one of the guards.

She spun on Loki, finger up and pointed at his face. "Don't make me further regret letting you talk me into speaking with Odin, by doing anything foolish. Someone could get hurt," Sif said archly as she strode off.

Darcy looked up at Loki, her fingers fumbling on the leather straps as she tried to fasten the cloak, "A little help please?" 

Loki obliged, and Darcy smiled a little, a thread of amusement in her voice, "Highly, thoroughly fucked?"

Trust her to make him bark out a laugh, at this, the most inopportune of moments.

* * *

They weren't made to wait long. At some point, he'd known the names of the soldiers who escorted them, but they stood around him now as nameless and faceless as any of the mortals he'd once despised. Loki wasn't sure when that shift had happened.

The silence wrapped around him like an old glove, familiar as his face, dreadful judgment weighty as only Odin could make it.

He should have known he'd end up back here, he really should have, but he'd been lulled into the falsest sense of security on Midgard - strange as it seemed. Darcy was unfamiliar with the scrutiny of one such as the being who'd raised him, but she bore the brunt of it with her chin notched up. Loki felt a fierce sort of pride at how she confronted the scenario she had thrust herself into.

"Why have you returned, Loki?" Odin's voice boomed across the throne room. "And bringing yet another mortal into our midst? Have you taken complete leave of your senses? Guards, remove it from my sight."

Loki opened his mouth to protest, but his mother - Frigga, the woman who'd raised him - burst through the doors of the throne room, striding quickly and confidently across the marble floor to her husband. She grasped Odin's shoulder to lean close and whispered in his ear, eyes raking over the scene she'd interrupted. Loki straightened himself, but made sure his hands were loosely clasped at the front, his shoulders relaxed. The urge to fidget was there, but habit kept him still. 

It was seeing her again that did it, that made him remember how she died in some other time. That made him recall what he'd stashed away so well even he'd forgotten about it in such a short span of time. 

Odin reached up to clasp the hand she'd rested on his shoulder, as if to hold his wife where she stood, but she slipped free easily, a sudden beaming smile on her face. Loki had missed her, he realized, desperately. She was as lovely as the Queen of Asgard should be, regal in all things, as was appropriate, but it was his mother who grasped his hands in her warm ones and kissed his cheek.

"Loki," she said, eyes glimmering. "My son. It does my heart good to see you so well. Come, let us speak in private." The glance she spared Odin was a dare to stop her. "And you will join us as well, Ms Lewis. I've heard such interesting things about you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for the support. You're all wonderful.


	88. A Queen Always & Never

Her son.

Here.

A queen never hurried, but she didn't care. Frigga ran from her loom, leaving the shuttle dangling by a thread, pulling the threads of the tapestry she was working on askew. She'd have to fix it, but that was for later. 

Ignoring the startled looks she received as she darted down the long corridors, Frigga's feet hit the floor in time to to her rapid heartbeat, her footsteps echoing  _her son, her son, her son._  Frigga would not give Odin, much as she loved him, the opportunity to make a tangle of this occasion, not if she had anything to do with it. 

Frigga paused at the doors, allowing the guards to open them, as custom dictated. It allowed her the smallest of moments to gather herself, to calm the nerves she never allowed anyone to see. A queen is always composed, after all. Which was a load of _bollocks_ , as far as Frigga was concerned, but appearances mattered, especially in Asgard, especially after _everything_. 

Such a small word for all it encompassed. Everything.

The frantic hammering of her pulse stuttered at the sight of her son standing in front of her husband. Loki's expression betrayed nothing of whatever foul thing Odin had undoubtedly said, though his companion had a look on her face that spoke volumes. His lady's presence indicated that Frigga wasn't too late to salvage this situation, and a fervent hope Frigga often denied sprang up in her chest like a weed that refuses to be killed. 

Odin should have waited for her, but he hadn't, and though a queen never questioned her king in front of others, Frigga wanted desperately to give him the sharp edge of her tongue. She whispered softly in his ear, when she reached the throne, "You will not ruin this. Not this time, husband mine."

He reached up, as if to hold her in place, but Frigga slipped through his fingers like so much water. A queen may never be held against her will. That one she'd taught herself long ago.

A smile was in her heart, on her lips, and it wasn't the one she used in public; it was the one that was reserved for her family. It wrinkled her eyes, and showed her age - her unseemly affection. A queen never shows her true feelings, but after _everything_ , Frigga had found a certain freedom from the precepts she'd been taught and had lived by for so long. Unaccustomed tears threatened.

"Loki," she greeted the son she missed so much, the one who reminded her of _herself_ , reaching for his hands. "My son," she said, kissing his cheek. It was a calculated action she meant not just for her son, but also for those few assembled. A deceptively simple statement that made clear where she stood. She pitched her voice to be heard throughout the throne room, "It does my heart good to see you so well. Come, let us speak in private."

The glance she spared Odin was nothing so much as a dare to stop her. "And you will join us as well, Ms Lewis. I've heard such interesting things about you." _There_ , she thought, _let them make of that what they willed_. 

Frigga didn't spare a backwards glance as she walked out of the throne room, confident that she would be followed by her son and his lady without further hesitation or interference. 

The walk back to her weaving room was quiet and took longer than her headlong rush to the throne room had. She didn't speak, and held her head at the angle she'd been taught so long ago. It discouraged interruption.

Motes of dust hung in the afternoon light as she ushered her guests inside her sanctum. Some kind, industrious soul had left a tray out; a pot of her favourite tea steaming next to three delicate cups and a plate of the pastries Loki had favoured as a child. She'd find out who did this later, thank them properly, but for now, she settled in one of the chairs and gestured for her two guests to join her. 

"Now then. Tell me everything, Loki." 

It was time for the honesty that made them all so uncomfortable. 

Loki had always been a quick-witted child; easily sussing out the layers hidden in few words, parsing them into a response he could shape to his benefit. He knew what she was saying - Frigga could tell from the rigidity of his posture, the straight angle of the back he kept carefully away from the chair - that she would brook no hedging or half-truths. There had been enough of that to last several ages, and it had helped not at all.

The things she'd Seen were conflicting, some awful beyond measure, some simply wonderful. Some patterns unraveled with a breath no matter how tight and secure the weave and some were stubborn as felted wool regardless of how loose she made them. Frigga had never experienced the like.

She had always found manipulating the future easy - too easy her instinct had always told her, some horrible price would inevitably be due. It was a skill she seemed to be unable to tap in to for the last several winters. Now that she was ready to pay _anything_ , this gift she never wanted had deserted her. 

"Thor got himself married," Loki said, and Frigga rolled her eyes at her stubborn child. As if she would be so easily distracted from her queries with news she'd predicted years ago even without her loom. Later, yes, she'd probe and pry for details, but her focus was on the pair in front of her. On whatever her son had brought into being with his meddling. 

Frigga gave him the Look. All children knew the Look, Loki included. His companion fell into a fit of delighted giggles. Frigga's sent a questioning glance at her, and she responded by flapping a hand in front of her face.

"Sorry," Darcy Lewis said, "it's just that my mom gives me that look all the time, and I guess somethings really are universal. Uhm. Hi," her face reddened under Frigga's scrutiny. "Sorry to interrupt. Your highness," she tacked on at the end. 

"No apologies necessary, Ms Lewis. I was rude. We haven't even been properly introduced and I, well. Impatience is something of a family trait, I'm afraid," Frigga held out a hand, "I am Frigga."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tangled is pretty great. (Give it a watch it you haven't already!)  
> [Stolen thing number infinity]
> 
> I SHOULD have been working on the end of [TTM](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12559596/chapters/28603632), but my muse brought me Frigga. She'd waited long enough apparently :)


End file.
